Christmas Bamboo

Christmas Bamboo

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

 

Dressed in a blue and white striped school uniform, with two long plaits adorning my hair, I gazed out of the window as the gentle harmattan wind blew from the udara tree outside, delicately caressing my face. The tree stood tall, thriving with both ripe and unripe udara fruits, just as it did every December.

The udara, also known as African Star Apple, possessed an edible gummy skin and dark brown seeds covered with creamy pulp, a treat that was eagerly consumed. Its presence served as a radiant signal that both the harmattan season and the month of December had gracefully arrived.

The arrival of December brought with it a distinct dusty scent, carried by the winds of the harmattan season. The fragrance permeated my classroom, and the gentle breeze rustled through the pages of my books and those of my classmates.

Seated in the second row next to the window, I leaned against the wall, shifting my gaze from outside to the History teacher who diligently wrote on the blackboard. Observing her slim figure, dressed in a vibrant red outfit, I couldn’t help but feel impatient. I wished she would hasten her lesson and leave the classroom, allowing me to venture out and pluck some udara before heading straight to the market to purchase Christmas goodies.

Was Christmas approaching once again? That meant I would have the pleasure of partaking in our cherished bamboo tea family tradition with my loved ones in the village. In the corner of the blackboard, the words “25 days to Christmas” stood as a countdown, meticulously written by our Class Prefect. This countdown served as a heartwarming reminder for me and my classmates. We already had a comprehensive list of items to buy for Christmas, and the money in our piggy bank would certainly enable us to acquire numerous things. After all, everyone desired to look their best on Christmas day.

Fortunately, we had already entered the second week of December 2022, and by the fourth week, we would conclude our mock exams, signalling my joyous journey back to the village. The thought of returning home for Christmas filled me with happiness and excitement. Beyond the celebrations and traditions with my immediate family, I eagerly anticipated reuniting with my extended relatives, whom I hadn’t seen in nearly a year.

Shifting my gaze from the classroom to the udara tree once more, I noticed some students standing beneath its branches, gleefully tossing stones and sticks at the fruits. It was a beautiful sight to behold. I had asked a boy to share one of the plucked fruits with me, but before I could receive it, my History teacher abruptly interrupted, pelting my forehead with a small piece of chalk.

‘Eva…’ a girl whispered from behind, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of the impending Christmas. Oblivious to the fact that the History teacher had grown frustrated with my lack of focus, I continued staring outside, only to be jolted back to reality when a girl across the aisle nudged me. It was too late, though, as my forehead had already become the target of my teacher’s small piece of chalk.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but feel like I resembled a cat or a giant panda. While I had never seen a panda before, I imagined my History teacher had turned my face into a striking resemblance of either.

‘The teacher is calling you,’ another girl reminded me.

‘Yes?’ I turned my head to meet the piercing gaze of Madam Agnes, our strict and respected form teacher who also taught History. Behind her black-rimmed glasses, anger emanated from her.

‘Looking outside the classroom while I am teaching? Stand at the back,’ she commanded, then turned to the window and shouted, ‘Quickly, return to your classes!’ The students scattered for a moment before regrouping to resume their quest for the delicious udara fruits.

With a soft sigh, I made my way to the back of the classroom, keeping my gaze lowered, fixed on the cement floor until I reached the designated spot. As I stood there, I silently chuckled at the cheer that erupted outside when an udara fruit fell, followed by the ensuing squabble over who had the first shot. Listening to their quarrels and cheers, I realised I would miss such moments once I graduated from the school next year.

‘How could you act so childishly when your mock exams start tomorrow?’ My History teacher scolded as all eyes in the classroom turned to me. ‘You’re eighteen now, no longer a child!’

‘I apologise,’ I said meekly.

Yes, I was eighteen, a senior in high school, preparing to sit for my West African Senior School Certificate Examination the following year. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t occasionally indulge in childish desires, right? I longed for the succulent udara fruits, and I couldn’t help but daydream about the special day, December 25th, when my family celebrated our unique traditions. Memories of childhood are what bring us joy in later years. If I couldn’t act like a child now, what would I reminisce about when I grew old?

‘Senior year is about studying, not begging for udara! Your exams should take precedence over everything else,’ my History teacher scolded, her glare unwavering. ‘Since you weren’t paying attention, why don’t you share with the class what you were thinking about?’

‘I was thinking about the sweet udara fruits and our Bamboo tea family tradition... Every Christmas, my family celebrates our special traditions,’ the words slipped from my mouth without much thought, causing the entire class to erupt in laughter.

The History teacher’s face darkened, and she snapped angrily, ‘So, you’re daydreaming about udara and family traditions simultaneously? Do you have worms crawling in your brain?’

The students burst into laughter once again at her remark.

‘Eva, I never expected your family traditions to distract you like this. However, I’ll let it slide today because of your photographic memory and your consistent record of straight A’s,’ she conceded, her tone slightly softened.

I smiled in response to the History teacher’s remarks. Was that the privilege of being a genius? It was true that I had gained a reputation among my classmates for my exceptional memory. I had the uncanny ability to absorb the contents of any textbook within seconds, allowing me to effortlessly transcribe the information onto my answer sheets during exams. While this made me confident about my upcoming tests, my mind was already drifting towards the end of the term when I could join my parents and younger sister on the bus ride to our village. However, Madam Agnes’ words still didn’t sit well with me. Despite my intellectual abilities, I never wanted others to feel inferior, as my father had always emphasised that everyone possessed their own unique skills and talents.

‘Go back to your seat and focus,’ the teacher instructed, adjusting her glasses.

‘Thank you, Madam Agnes,’ I replied politely, making my way back to my seat. I could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze upon me, but this time, I directed my attention towards the History lesson, silently praying for the classes to come to an end.

‘Everyone, please turn to page 31 of your History textbook!’ the teacher announced.

Immediately, the students flipped their textbooks to the specified page, and a hush fell over the previously noisy classroom. The students outside had returned to their classes, leaving only the gentle rustling of the wind to break the silence.

When the final school bell rang, signalling the end of the day, I grabbed my backpack and prepared to leave the classroom. Just as I was about to exit, my best friend, Chioma, approached me.

‘Eva, what was going on with you today?’ Chioma asked, her smile brightening the room.

I looked up at my petite and pretty friend and chuckled. ‘I couldn’t help it. I just wanted to eat some udara...’ I shrugged.

‘What was that about the bamboo tea family tradition?’ Chioma enquired, her curiosity piqued.

‘If you’re curious to learn about my family tradition, you should come to my house on December 25th,’ I said, laughing. ‘Do you enjoy drinking tea?’

Chioma shook her head. ‘I hate drinking tea. Who drinks tea for Christmas celebrations?’ She pouted her lips.

‘That’s why it’s special to my family. You should come and taste it,’ I said sweetly. ‘Are you still planning to buy fireworks?’ I asked as Chioma started making her way towards the door.

Chioma turned back, smiling, and replied, ‘Yes... Fireworks bring the magic of Christmas. For you, your family’s bamboo tea tradition makes Christmas worth celebrating.’

I swung my beige backpack over my shoulder and happily walked out of the classroom with Chioma. Together, we headed toward the udara tree. After plucking two udara fruits, we left the school compound and hailed a taxi to the bustling Owerri market.

‘It seems like I have to prepare myself for the Christmas Bamboo event at your place on the 25th of December,’ Chioma giggled, savouring the delicious udara fruit as we alighted from the taxi and made our way towards the lively market.

‘Christmas Bamboo?’ I repeated, glancing over at Chioma. ‘You know what? I actually kind of like that name,’ I chuckled. ‘Christmas Bamboo,’ I mused to myself, letting the words roll off my tongue.

Chioma flashed a dazzling smile. ‘Feel free to use it if you want.’

Yes, I thought to myself, “Christmas Bamboo” was the perfect name for our family’s bamboo tea tradition. Even though I anticipated that some people might find the name amusing or ridiculous, it truly encapsulated the essence of our unique Christmas celebration. The idea of writing a book about our Christmas tradition and gifting it with the title “Christmas Bamboo” brought a smile to my face—a silly thought that sparked excitement within me.

The gentle harmattan breeze brushed against my face as we navigated through the bustling crowd. Chioma led the way, and I followed closely behind, quickening my pace to avoid losing sight of her amidst the clamour and noise.

As we continued walking, I noticed the joyous expressions on people’s faces in the market. Christmas was approaching, and the festive spirit was palpable. Similar to cities worldwide, Owerri was adorned with enchanting Christmas decorations. The main streets and boulevards were beautifully embellished, radiating with the sparkle of Christmas lights. Many homes had erected Christmas trees, their windows adorned with golden ornaments and strings of lights.

However, in my village, we had a different Christmas ambiance that might seem simple to city dwellers but held a unique charm for us villagers. While Christmas trees were absent, our village streets were adorned with decorated CDs, exuding an atmosphere of excitement and togetherness that made Christmas special. To my family, our bamboo tea tradition, born out of hardship, was a source of happiness and joy that we celebrated during this festive season.

Here, in the vibrant Owerri market, I was thrilled to observe the bustling activity around me. Customers eagerly competed to secure items at discounted prices, aware that prices would skyrocket during the final week before Christmas. I also watched as hawkers vied for attention, hoping to make some extra money to facilitate their journeys back home. Parents busily purchased fireworks and firecrackers for their children, adding to the festive atmosphere.

The market reverberated with the melodies of Christmas songs playing in the background, blending with the lively chatter of the crowd. Some children joyfully danced to the music, adding to the merriment in the air.

The small yellowish-brown udara fruits, known for their numerous health benefits, were sold on almost every street corner, roadside, and even in shopping malls. By January, there would be an abundance of udara in the market. However, the thought of these delicious fruits going to waste when bruised or rotten saddened me. In that moment, I pondered the possibility of establishing a winery in the future, ensuring that no udara fruit would be wasted.

‘In the future, I am going to make udara wine and sell it,’ I declared confidently. ‘Every family in my village has an udara tree planted in their homes, including ours in our backyard. Instead of letting the fruits go to waste, setting up a winery would be the best course of action.’

Chioma looked at me, intrigued. ‘That sounds like a promising business to start. It’s a shame to see the fruits being wasted here. Since we have both sour and sweet udara varieties, you’ll need to package them differently. Hiring wine-making experts to guide you and a talented designer to create captivating wine bottle designs would be essential. Additionally, you can explore other possibilities, like making chewing gum from the fruit. When the time comes, you’ll know exactly what to do. I have full confidence in your high IQ,’ she said with a relaxed smile.

‘You’re a genius,’ I replied, smiling at Chioma. ‘When the time comes, I’ll definitely need you to work with me.’

‘Really? Thank you,’ Chioma responded excitedly.

Chioma remained fascinated by the market and its offerings. After observing the bustling scene and purchasing the fireworks that had brought her there, she expressed her ambition to own her own mall in the future while also supporting me in my wine-making venture. Initially unsure about which fireworks to choose, Chioma wanted something captivating and attention-grabbing. After careful consideration, she settled on a box of fireworks that the shop owner explained would create a dazzling display when ignited. With the purchase complete, Chioma paid the shop owner, and we left the market.

Meanwhile, I was pleased with all the clothes I had bought. For my trip to the village on the 24th, I had chosen a thin baby pink sweater that looked exceptionally adorable, a pair of blue jeans, and white sneakers. Concerned that the harmattan dust might turn my white sneakers into dusty brown ones, I hesitated momentarily. However, my fondness for pink and white prevailed, and I decided to embrace the harmattan season and enjoy the weather despite the potential consequences.

‘Chioma, how do I look?’ I enquired after changing into the outfit, seeking her opinion on whether it suited me well.

‘Eva, you look absolutely charming,’ Chioma complimented. ‘You’re beautiful... I believe that a good-looking person can rock anything.’ She gazed at me with admiration.

While Christmas was a time to showcase our best outfits, it wasn’t just about wearing anything, no matter how charming one appeared.

Upon returning home from the market, where I had purchased an array of items, I took a short nap before diving into studying for my upcoming mock exams.

***

 

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The following day, I woke up earlier than usual and arrived at school with my backpack. Taking my seat at my assigned desk, I retrieved practice papers and began working on them. Although the questions seemed easy, I knew the importance of studying diligently to excel in my mock exams, which were scheduled to begin at eight o’clock that morning. Underestimating the power of exams was never a wise choice; I had adopted the habit of preparing meticulously for every test that came my way.

Then, precisely at eight o’clock, the mock exams officially commenced. A teacher distributed the exam scripts, and I smiled confidently as I received mine. The English essay question was one that I had discussed with my mother the previous night, and the remaining questions appeared straightforward.

With a contented sigh, I bent my head and began answering the questions. Chioma, who was seated in front of me, struggled a bit more than I did. However, I felt compelled to assist her with some of the answers. It was the Christmas season, and I believed in the spirit of helping one another during exams so that we could celebrate the holidays with our loved ones without worry.

We successfully completed the mock exams, which spanned nearly two weeks. On the last day, December 23rd, we celebrated by igniting knock-outs and joyfully listening to their explosive sounds.

To enhance the festive atmosphere, our Class Prefect played Christmas songs through the loudspeaker he had brought to school that day. The music filled the school compound, lifting our spirits and making us wish that Christmas had arrived already, rather than being just a day or two away. It was a delightful moment for the SS3 students as we happily dispersed from the schoolyard after the small gathering, heading to our respective homes to prepare for Christmas.

***

In the morning, I woke up with excitement, eager to see my relatives today. Peering through my bedroom window, I observed the hazy light of dawn. We had already packed our luggage the previous night, but I still went around the house to double-check that nothing had been forgotten for our trip. I let out a soft sigh of relief when I confirmed that everything we needed was ready and waiting for us. So, after enjoying a breakfast of akamu and akara, we would set off for our village.

Following our satisfying meal, we boarded a bus and embarked on our journey to the village. As the bus slowly traversed the busy road, I gazed out of the window, counting the rows of cars lining the way. The traffic was heavy due to the multitude of people leaving Owerri to reunite with their families and enjoy quality time together during Christmas. Despite the complaints about increased transport fares and the congestion on the road, the importance of being with our loved ones outweighed any inconvenience. For the sake of our cherished family members, we were willing to endure any hardship.

At that very moment, the familiar landscape of my village flashed by, filling my heart with joy. The baby pink sweater I wore perfectly complemented my smooth, brown skin, adding vibrancy to my appearance. I let my long, dark hair cascade down my back in curly waves, and my younger sister Ella looked adorable in her black jeans and white sweater adorned with a cute cartoon dog. While Ella was undeniably sweet, people often remarked that I possessed a certain beauty surpassing hers.

The anticipation of seeing my beloved grandmother, who doted on me, filled me with uncontainable excitement as we neared home. Along the roadside, various shops proudly displayed Christmas dolls, trees, and ornaments, creating a festive ambiance. The night sky sparkled with fireworks, painting it in a breathtaking array of colours. Children gleefully played with firecrackers, and I delighted in the joyous sounds they produced.

Soon, we approached a police checkpoint. Old tires and sandbags lined the road, leaving a narrow passage. A dark-skinned policeman signalled our bus to halt as we approached. Our driver wore an expression of discontent upon seeing the policeman stopping him. However, without uttering a word, he retrieved a hundred-naira note from his pocket and handed it to the policeman through the window. The policeman smiled and waved us through.

It saddened me to witness how the police officers were solely interested in collecting bribes from drivers, without bothering to check vehicle documents or conduct searches. I couldn’t help but ponder the morality of bribing them or the option of fighting against this corruption. However, nobody seemed willing to protest, as the overwhelming desire was to reach home, including myself.

When the bus stopped at the junction leading to my village, we disembarked amidst the bustling crowd and hopped onto motorcycles, known as okada, heading towards our compound. Along the way, we passed a young man who playfully hoisted his daughter onto his shoulders, allowing her to grasp at a mango leaf above before gently setting her down. Excitement filled the air as children played, some singing Christmas songs, while others threw sticks at udara trees.

The harmattan season brought scorching afternoons and chilly nights. It was understandable for anyone in Igbo land to resent this season due to its harsh weather, abundant dust, and the affliction of chapped lips. However, paradoxically, it seemed to be our favourite weather because it signalled the arrival of Christmas. The dusty streets were teeming with lively children, and newly opened stalls catered to the festive season, aiming to make extra profits. Many customers occupied most of the food stalls, relishing palm wine, suya, nkwobi, and pepper soup.

Those returning home for Christmas balanced their luggage on their heads or in their hands, while others travelled in fully-packed cars. Some happily led the goats they had purchased, while others carried yams, chickens, and other Christmas supplies. Children clutched small bags or held their little ones’ hands. Truly, people were flocking home to celebrate Christmas with their loved ones. The scent in the air was unmistakably that of Christmas!

As we rode towards our local market, I exchanged smiles with the hawkers who engagingly beckoned passersby to buy their wares. The motorcyclists or rather okada riders called out to attract customers, and the marketplace resonated with shouts and sounds from loudspeakers, creating an incredibly lively atmosphere. It was a delightful spectacle to observe our bustling local market. The okada man carrying me slowed down near potholes scattered along the road, skillfully navigating around them. As we passed the market, we continued along the narrow road, which showed signs of erosion on its edges.

As I glanced back at the erosion and motioned to my parents’ and sister’s okada riders to slow down, the thought crossed my mind that Climate Change may have played a role in its formation. These days, conversations about Climate Change and the urgent need for climate action to preserve our planet are everywhere. Observing the erosion, I felt a strong desire to be part of the solution. I hoped to initiate change by reducing my carbon footprint, planting trees, and eliminating plastic litter.

While taking out the trash and being a good neighbour were important, I believed there was more I could do to improve my community. We needed more trees and vibrant green spaces. In this moment, I recalled the words of my Agriculture teacher, who had emphasised the importance of collective action in creating a green and clean environment. He encouraged us to come together and plant trees, flowers, and colourful perennial borders along our sidewalks and streets, as well as establish a community garden. To achieve such a significant transformation, we needed to collaborate. Although our monthly clean-up initiative, held on the last Saturday of each month, was a good starting point for a cleaner environment, I felt it was insufficient.

A green environment was what we truly needed. By filling our streets with plants and flowers, perhaps we could help reduce erosion in our community. I made a mental note to meet with my Agriculture teacher, confident that she would guide me further in my quest for a greener environment. As I turned my head and observed the deepening erosion, I muttered to myself, determined to take action.

Upon reaching my compound, a crowd had gathered to welcome us. Village children flocked around, and my mother kindly distributed biscuits and fruit candy to them. Some women stood nearby, engaged in hushed conversations with folded arms, while others asked us questions about the city. We reside in Owerri, the capital of Imo State, and we had returned to our humble village to celebrate Christmas with our loved ones.

That night, my grandmother treated us to a delightful meal of ofe ugu, akpu, and delicious palm wine. After dinner, I slipped on a pink knitted cardigan over my white nightgown and donned a pair of pink slippers. Together with my younger sister Ella, who looked elegant in her olive t-shirt and jeans, we ventured into the front yard.

Our front yard served as a pathway for strollers, and we exchanged greetings with everyone passing by, taking in the happenings within our neighbourhood.

Sitting beneath the ancient orange tree, my long hair swayed in the gentle breeze as we watched the flurry of activities around us. The tree’s branches were adorned with green leaves and juicy oranges. My sister stood up, plucked some oranges, and skillfully peeled them with our kitchen knife. We savoured the delicious fruit, my excitement growing as I observed children chattering joyously, people gathering around a crackling bonfire, some heading to the church for the night vigil, and groups of girls engrossed in a game of oga. I couldn’t help but notice a bunch of gleeful children playfully kicking up white harmattan dust as they darted about, some amusing themselves with old car tires, and the unmistakable sound of knock-outs filling the air.

Knock-outs, our colloquial term for firecrackers and bangers, filled the air with their explosive presence. Mischievous children seized the opportunity to play pranks, unexpectedly launching their firecrackers amidst unsuspecting passersby. The startled screams mingled with the bursting noise, intensifying the thrill of the moment. Everywhere, conversations filled the air, and it was evident that everyone eagerly awaited the stroke of midnight to extend their Christmas greetings to loved ones and strangers alike.

‘Eva, I’ll visit you tomorrow for my Christmas rice,’ a young woman cheerfully exclaimed as she paused to greet me.

‘We’ll offer you Christmas tea instead. You can come in the evening for your Christmas rice,’ I chuckled in response.

‘I wouldn’t mind eating akpu or abacha, but tea alone won’t satisfy me,’ she replied with a laugh. ‘I can’t fill my stomach with just water!’

I let out a soft, contented sigh. While it was customary to serve rice to guests during Christmas visits, our cherished family tradition was to begin with a warm cup of tea. It was a tradition we would continue to embrace throughout our lives.

In this magical moment, I glanced at my watch, realising there were only about ten minutes left until midnight, heralding the arrival of both a new day and Christmas. As the clock struck twelve, enchanting sounds of fireworks and firecrackers filled the air, accompanied by the heartfelt exchange of joyful Christmas wishes. My father also ignited the fireworks he had brought to the village. I giggled with delight as they soared skyward, illuminating the night with their brilliant colours. Excitedly, I retrieved my phone and called Chioma, and together we exchanged heartfelt Christmas and New Year wishes.

After ending the call with Chioma, a WhatsApp notification caught my attention. With a smile on my oval face, I read the message;

‘Happy Christmas to my beautiful classmates. Wishing you all a Happy, Berry, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year in advance…’

The message was from my classmate, Peter Obinna, the Class Prefect, who had sent it to our WhatsApp group chat.

I joyfully read the comments in the group chat before retiring inside to sleep. Although I wasn’t particularly tired, I eagerly anticipated the morning, I forced myself to rest, determined not to greet Christmas Day with dark circles under my eyes.

***

Despite the chilly and dusty harmattan weather, Christmas in my home had always been a cherished and unforgettable time. It wasn’t solely due to the delectable delicacies but rather the treasured tradition of Christmas tea, which had endured through the ages, bringing laughter to our lips as we celebrated this special occasion in our village.

The day was filled with beauty as my younger sister, brimming with excitement, washed the teacups. Just as she finished, our grandmother entered the kitchen, adorned in her blue wrapper and white blouse, humming a cheerful Christmas song. She grabbed some firewood from the stack beside the kitchen, which she had gathered from the nearby bush. Despite my uncle purchasing a stove for her, my grandmother insisted on using firewood, claiming that food cooked with it was sweeter. While I couldn’t verify the truth of her statement, I found it enjoyable to cook with firewood on occasion. After all, we were preparing our family’s traditional tea, so it was only fitting to do everything in a traditional manner.

‘Ella, please hurry up,’ my grandmother, who had been humming, abruptly ceased her humming and urged my younger sister to expedite her current task. Directing her focus towards me, she questioned, ‘Why didn’t you inform me that you were inviting your friend over?’

Instead of responding immediately, I placed the freshly washed teacups on the large tray. ‘Grandma, Chioma was curious about our family tradition, so I invited her over,’ I explained, smiling.

‘Well, Eva, it took you quite a while to answer. You looked as if you had seen a ghost,’ my grandmother teased playfully.

‘I wasn’t sure if you would agree to have Chioma here. I know how much our Christmas Afternoon tea means to us. It’s special and exciting. I was afraid you wouldn’t want a stranger present at this moment,’ I replied, giggling.

My grandmother scooped a handful of bamboo leaves into a pot and filled it with water. She placed a metal rack over the fire and patiently waited for the tea to boil. ‘There’s nothing wrong with sharing our family tradition with others who are curious about it,’ she remarked.

Ella chuckled and said, ‘Oh, grandma, I thought you would scold my sister. But I guess I was mistaken...’

Smiling, I arranged the serving tray and replied, ‘Every family has its own traditions, its own peculiar customs that make sense only to them. There’s nothing wrong with sharing our tradition with others. As they say, love is about sharing...’

‘There’s no time for silly talk,’ my grandmother interjected, grabbing the teapot. I followed her into the living room as she placed the teapot on the grand dining table, reserved for this special ritual. ‘What about your friend?’ my grandmother enquired once everyone had taken their seats.

‘She had to leave when she received a call from her family,’ my mother answered, pulling a chair close to my father’s side and leaning back.

‘It seems more like a family tradition,’ my grandmother mused, her voice resonating with the melodic joy that our Christmas tea tradition brought her.

‘Could it be that grandma only wanted her family to be here and didn’t want any strangers?’ I asked curiously.

My grandmother gazed at me, a smile adorning her face. ‘I initially wanted to celebrate this moment with my family alone. But when I heard about your friend’s desire to join us, I didn’t object. I was willing to share this special occasion with her as well. Now that she has left before we began, I have no choice but to find happiness in our togetherness, right?’ She lovingly extended her hand and gently patted my head.

With my dark, long hair cascading over my shoulder and the vibrant red-patterned dress I wore, I exuded liveliness and beauty on this festive day. In fact, I smiled sweetly, resembling a radiant celebrity.

My father turned to his mother and urged, ‘Mother, please serve the tea before it gets cold.’

‘No worries, son. It won’t be cold,’ my grandmother reassured with her warmest smile as she poured tea for everyone. ‘Would you like milk or sugar?’ She turned to my father and asked.

‘According to our tradition, everyone should have a little of each,’ my father replied, chuckling. ‘Half a spoon of sugar and a splash of milk.’

Laughter erupted at my father’s response. My grandmother gazed at the happy faces of her children and grandchildren, feeling grateful for everything. What began as a simple meal due to a lack of Christmas provisions had transformed into a joyous family tradition.

In the background, Bruce Springsteen’s Santa Claus is Coming to Town played from the music player, filling the air with a soothing melody.

‘Beatrice, help me with the biscuits,’ my grandmother beckoned to my mother. Overwhelmed with joy, my grandmother’s wrinkled face radiated bliss.

‘Of course, mother-in-law,’ my mother responded, rising from her seat. She assisted in serving the biscuits while my grandmother poured tea for everyone. My mother looked stunning in her beautiful blue dress, her hair flowing freely.

Everyone was dressed in new clothes. My grandmother wore our traditional Igbo attire, looking simple yet elegant. My father, too, donned Igbo traditional attire, exuding magnificence akin to that of a dignified king.

‘Tea is ready,’ my grandmother exclaimed excitedly, finishing the pouring of tea. Taking her seat, she faced me. With closed eyes, we all bowed our heads, embracing a moment of silence. Then, my grandmother said the grace, and in unison, we all said ‘Amen’ before indulging in our tea and biscuits.

As I lifted the tea to my thin pink lips, I glanced around, recalling the story my grandmother had shared with my sister and me about the origins of our Christmas tea tradition. This was my village, the place where we all celebrated Christmas together. It was the very house that birthed our first Christmas tradition. It was where my grandmother, grandfather, parents, siblings, uncles, and aunts gathered to celebrate Christmas. Even those family members who couldn’t make it to the village for Christmas due to circumstances beyond their control upheld their own Christmas tea tradition, wherever they were.

The tradition of drinking bamboo tea with biscuits had persisted for ages: afternoon tea promptly at 12 o’clock. Before venturing off to our respective destinations, we would come together as a family to share bamboo tea.

This tradition began long before I was even born. My grandmother had recounted that during one Christmas, which served as the catalyst for this beautiful tradition, there was no money to buy food for the traditional Christmas dishes. The aroma of other families’ cooking permeated the air, while her own kitchen remained devoid of any signs that today was Christmas.

My grandfather felt helpless, unable to meet the expectations of his children who, like their peers, eagerly anticipated the festive delicacies, decorations, and toys. He had exhausted all efforts as the head of the household to secure funds for his family’s Christmas celebration, but all his attempts had been in vain. It was as if he were a drowning man in a pool, desperately awaiting rescue that never came.

My grandmother witnessed her children excitedly discussing how they would savour their plates of rice and stew, and boast about it to their friends. They appeared hungry, and the sight tugged at my grandmother’s heart. Their growling stomachs echoed in her ears. No mother could find happiness in seeing her children go hungry.

‘Mum, where’s the Christmas chicken? You haven’t bought it yet,’ my father innocently enquired, addressing his mother, who is now my grandmother. ‘I’ve already sharpened the knife to cut its head off.’

‘And what about the rice? I can smell the aroma of chicken stew coming from our neighbour’s kitchen…but I can’t smell anything from ours,’ my aunt added.

‘Mother, should I accompany you to the market? I want to see how lively the Christmas market will be,’ my uncle said hopefully.

My grandmother smiled at her children, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. ‘Today, we won’t be cooking rice and chicken stew,’ she paused, trying to muster the strength to tell her children what they would have for Christmas. ‘Instead, we’re going to have tea and biscuits,’ she revealed, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

‘No way!’ my father objected. ‘What would my friends say if I told them we’re having tea and biscuits for Christmas? It sounds embarrassing!’

‘It sounds special,’ my grandmother gently corrected her children. ‘It’s special because we’re going to have a special kind of tea.’

Curious, my father asked, ‘What kind of tea, Mother?’

‘Bamboo tea,’ my grandmother whispered, unsure if making tea for her family was the right decision. She contemplated asking her friends for rice, but she couldn’t bear the thought of gossip spreading in the neighbourhood. Protecting her family’s image, especially her husband’s pride and dignity, was paramount. So, she decided to make tea and hope for dinner.

Nonetheless, she held onto hope that they would have a meal for dinner. In the small village of Alaenyi Ogwa, whenever there was a festive event like a wedding, thanksgiving, or even a burial, everyone would spontaneously come together to help. That day, my grandmother felt a glimmer of happiness because a young lady was having her traditional wedding in the evening. As someone in charge of cooking for such events, my grandmother was confident she would bring food for her husband and children. However, she would have been happier to provide her children with a proper Christmas dinner instead of relying on free food.

‘I’m sure all of you will enjoy this tea,’ she said with a forced joy, yearning to give her children a real Christmas feast. ‘And if your friends ask about our meal today, just tell them that our family wanted a change from the usual rice and chicken stew. We wanted to have bamboo tea and biscuits.’ My grandmother reached out to touch my father’s arm. ‘I would like you to help me gather the leaves.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ my father eagerly agreed.

Children are indeed easily pleased, my grandmother thought, a grin forming on her face as she whispered to herself.

My beautiful grandmother had a knack for finding joy and bringing smiles to people’s faces. She knew how to make the best of any situation. As a princess, she was accustomed to drinking tea in her home, but not on special occasions like Christmas, when tea was served as a dessert rather than the main course. However, my grandmother was known as the forgotten princess. If she hadn’t been forgotten and cast aside from the palace, her husband and children wouldn’t have had to endure such hardships. But since she was the crown princess, next in line to her father’s throne, she was dismissed by her jealous stepbrothers and stepsisters.

Following my grandmother to the nearby bushes to gather bamboo leaves, my father looked at his siblings and smiled. That day marked the beginning of our family’s tradition of bamboo tea and biscuits.

To set the mood that day, my grandfather played Bruce Springsteen’s Santa Claus is Coming to Town for his children. The lively tune permeated the air, as it did every Christmas in our family. The playlist comprised approximately forty beloved classic Christmas songs, with each melody contributing to the festive ambiance of the day.

Every year, all members of our family travelled home for this special day. Witnessing the joy and laughter that filled our hearts each Christmas warmed my grandmother’s heart. I could only imagine how happy my grandfather would have been if he were still with us.

Even though our table was adorned with a variety of sumptuous dishes, we always performed our Christmas tea tradition before indulging in the food. The aroma of the tea was unforgettable, and each sip reminded me of the love with which it was prepared.

***

For dinner, we enjoyed a delicious meal of rice and chicken stew. The enticing aroma permeated the house even before my mother and aunt finished cooking. It smelled truly heavenly. After the satisfying dinner, I sat on the sofa in our small, cosy living room, next to Ella, watching television. However, the power abruptly went out after just five minutes. Undeterred, we ventured out to the veranda and joined my grandmother, who regaled us with exciting stories as we savoured roasted chicken accompanied by palm wine. In one corner, my grandmother had built a warm fire, providing us with comfort instead of the chilling night air.

With all of my grandmother’s children and grandchildren gathered to celebrate, the room was filled to the brim. When it came time to sleep, the sofas in the living room were pushed aside to make space for the grandchildren.

The warmth of having your family together for Christmas is an experience that everyone should cherish, and I have always wished for everyone to enjoy their Christmas to the fullest. Our worth is not measured by how much we spend during Christmas but by the love we give and receive.

As the New Year approached rapidly, a wave of anticipation washed over me. I closed my eyes, envisioning a cascade of happiness gracing the faces of everyone I held dear. With hopeful thoughts swirling in my mind, I drifted off to sleep, eagerly awaiting the joy and possibilities that the upcoming year would bring.

 

Goodwall-The Life Changing App

Goodwall-The Life Changing App

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

Chapter One

It was the second Saturday of February, and the weather seemed bright and beautiful. Excited children played with friends in the playground and on the street. People gossiped about the hot weather that was turning the country into a furnace, the grass that had been burnt out by the extreme heat, the tree leaves that had turned red and brown, and the perspiration that poured in buckets from head to toe.

There was also talk about not getting good sleep since the dry, cool harmattan wind suddenly stopped in December. Everyone, especially the farmers, prayed for the rain to arrive soon.

As the children happily played around, a strong wind suddenly arose and the sky darkened. It felt as if the world was coming to an abrupt end. Dust and flying leaves filled the air, and trees swayed from their roots as people rushed to close their doors and windows. Some stood on their verandahs, covering their eyes to avoid the blowing dust, while watching the furious wind. Meanwhile, the children continued playing and running around in their pants or shorts, singing happily in anticipation of the rain.

The sky was covered with black clouds, and long streaks of lightning cracked through angrily. Farmers were happy because the rainy season was approaching, and they were getting ready for another planting season.

The children played on happily, expecting to be drenched by the rain. When it finally started raining, excitement was evident on their faces as they witnessed the first rain of the year. However, the rain fell like frozen pebbles. Despite feeling a little pain when the frozen droplets hit them, they couldn’t help but giggle. They happily picked up the frozen drops and threw them into their mouths before they melted.

The sight of raindrops descending after a long time was truly amazing, but the most delightful part was the intoxicating aroma accompanying the rain’s initial contact with the earth. This scent had the power to evoke a poetic, dreamlike, and romantic ambiance within most individuals.

Dera, a tall and beautiful sixteen-year-old girl, stood at the front door entrance, watching as the frozen drops hit the ground. A radiant smile graced her face, reflecting the joy and wonder she felt in that moment. She wondered about the reason behind the earthy scent and why it was so wonderful. She knew that water has no smell, so the secret behind the mesmerising smell intrigued her.

During her climate change classes, she had often heard from her teacher that the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil was called petrichor, a term coined by Australian scientists who researched the nature of the odour in 1964. They had investigated the aroma coming from moist clay, sediment, and rock. She wondered how it was possible for the musky smell of petrichor to be caused by the secretion of oils by some plants. Nonetheless, Dera didn’t want to dwell on it further. All she knew was that the smell was refreshing and made her feel that it marked the dawn of a new beginning and the freshness of things to come.

Dera had an elegant and refreshing face, with curly eyelashes, a delicate little nose, dark hair tied in bunches, and a pleasant little mouth. She was dressed in a white crop top and a pastel floral skirt, revealing her beautiful glowing brown legs.

As the frozen drops continued to hit the ground, she couldn’t stop admiring them. She savoured the earthy odour of the first rain. Walking into the rain, she picked up a handful of the frozen drops, closed her eyes, and made a wish while the frozen drops pelting her. She felt no pain at all as she eagerly made a wish, hoping that it would come true. Her only wish was to be able to sit for the West African Senior School Certificate Examination with her classmates. She already had the timetable for the exam, but what purpose did it serve if she hadn’t registered yet?

This was an essential examination that determines the future of secondary school students in West Africa. Students who pass the exam receive a certificate from the West African Examination Council confirming their graduation from secondary education.

Some of the students also sit for the National Examination Council exam as well, so that if they didn’t pass WASSCE, they might be lucky with their NECO. But in the case of Dera, she was only hoping to sit for the WASSCE, at least. The thought of not having registered always gave her sleepless nights. However, she never failed to be hopeful and always wore a sweet smile.

When the rain stopped, the trees were washed green and the leaves fluttered happily. Dera looked at the clock in the living room, and it was almost six. In the excitement of the first rain of the year, Dera walked to her room and picked up her scrapbook. She began to sketch herself picking frozen drops in the rain, completing the sketch with the green trees and leaves that fluttered happily. At the end of the drawing, she asked herself, “Will I flutter happily someday?” It was a question she didn’t know how to answer.

Closing the scrapbook, she went to the bathroom to have a quick hot bath. Now wearing a cardigan with a flowy floral dress, she went to the kitchen to see what her mother was cooking.

‘What’s for dinner?’ Dera asked while pouring herself some tea from the teapot.

‘Beans and rice with chunks of meat,’ Beatrice replied as she chopped two purple onions, wearing a brown apron over her maxi dress.

Dera laughed. ‘I get it, Mum. You’re telling me to prepare my heart for the meat. I don’t mind not eating any meat at all. I am only after satisfying my hunger.’ She glanced at the blended tomatoes in a mortar after she spoke.

‘Glad you understand even before I say it,’ Beatrice smiled and let out a soft sigh. ‘It’s nice and cool today. Thank GOD for the rain.’

‘Yes, the first rain of the year embraced us with frozen drops. How beautiful!’ Dera took a sip of her hot tea.

‘Yes, it’s nice.’                                 

Dera picked some biscuits from the bowl on the square-shaped kitchen table and began to munch. ‘The air will be cooler now, I suppose.’

‘Well, I don’t think so. It will be cool for a couple of days. Many farmers might rush to plant with this first rainfall...’

‘Crops planted with the first rain might become roasted as a result of heat if the rain does not continue.’

‘Yeah, farmers should wait for another rain before planting their crops. However, if any farmer wants to use this first rain to plant, they should make sure to have enough water stored for their crops should the rain cease to fall.’

‘Our Agric teacher said that the first rain is the time for crop farmers to start clearing their farms but not to plant crops.’

‘The rainy season doesn’t begin until May or even June...’

‘Yes, the months for WASSCE, but then the planting season starts from February...’ Dera said, her eyes turning slightly red and a little teary.

Hearing Dera’s words, Beatrice looked at her and said soothingly, ‘Dera, please believe in miracles, okay? Even if you don’t believe me right now, I want you to learn from the rain.’ Beatrice locked eyes with Dera, her expression filled with earnestness. ‘The first rain was pretty much overdue, but it rained anyway. And it rained for almost two hours and stopped clean. Just like that, a fresh start was granted.’  She gestured towards the kitchen window, prompting Dera to look outside. ‘Look at the trees and leaves; they look happy again after experiencing the dusty harmattan season that almost drained them of their water. Today, they are nourished by the rain.’ Returning her focus to Dera, Beatrice emphasised, ‘It’s not over yet, just believe that.’ Beatrice brushed away the onion tears with the back of her hand.

Dera nodded with a sigh as she lifted her cup of tea to her mouth and took a brief sip.

                                                                                                ***

Dera cycled her pink bicycle to school on Monday morning. Looking at her, one would know that her peach-coloured shirt, pleated navy blue skirt, black tie, and peach blazer had lost their texture and colour due to constant washing. Her feet were adorned with torn, over-worn sandals.

The bicycle had a basket of exercise books in front. There were also a few textbooks neatly arranged in the basket, and when it rained, she put the books in her backpack and covered it with a waterproof sheet, placing it in the basket. However, since it wasn’t the rainy season yet, Dera had nothing to fear. Nevertheless, she remained prepared for any eventuality.

As her school was a bit far from home, her elder brother, Andrew, had bought her the bicycle to help her commute to school more conveniently instead of waiting at the bus stop or walking all the way.

Dera had always hoped to get a new uniform, new sandals, pay her school fees for two terms, as well as register for her upcoming West African Senior School Certificate Examination (WASSCE). But she felt that it might be impossible for her to register for the examination. Her parents’ income was not sufficient to pay for her brother’s university fees, let alone cover her own school fees and WASSCE registration.

To support himself at the university, Andrew had found a part-time job as a cleaner in one of the restaurants on campus.

Threatening tears welled up in Dera’s eyes, but she tried her best to suppress them as she pedalled on. Oh, Dera, stop thinking too much. You have to keep pedalling. Just a little further and you’ll conquer this. You’ll overcome these challenges and reach the top, she muttered in her heart, determined not to give up on life.

She wondered, for the millionth time, if going to school today was the right choice or if she should turn her bicycle back home. No, she refused to accept defeat. Instead, she would hold her head high and believe that she could weather the storm. But how? She couldn’t stop questioning herself. She hadn’t registered for the upcoming final exams, and her school fees for two terms remained unpaid. She wasn’t even that concerned about her faded and over-washed uniform; her main worries were her school fees and WASSCE registration. If she didn’t register for the WASSCE this year, it meant she would have to come back next year. She didn’t want to delay her graduation rather she would want to experience the joy of graduating this year with her classmates.

Arriving at the school, she parked her bicycle in the shade of a huge tree and proceeded inside. Glancing at her reflection in the school window, she wanted to scream at how shabby she looked compared to the other smartly dressed students in their gorgeous uniforms and polished shoes.

Dera walked to the end of the hallway to read the notice board. There was nothing new on it, but she felt that after the morning assembly, there might be a notice about SS3 students who hadn’t registered for their WASSCE. There was the timetable and the list of school clubs. The quotes from the principal, Mr. Johnson, were displayed to motivate the students and keep them moving forward.

Mr. Johnson made the school lively and inspired the students to never stop dreaming. Dera felt that she should write a letter to the principal, asking for some time to clear her debt. She wondered what she could write to convince him to give her a week or two for her parents to gather the money, and if her letter would be enough to prevent him from sending her home.

 As Dera contemplated the situation, she noticed the arrival of the school principal, Mr. Johnson, in his sleek black Mercedes Benz. Slowly, he parked his car in his designated spot, and the security guard, dressed in a blue and white uniform, promptly stepped forward to open the door for him.

‘I can do it myself,’ Mr. Johnson declared, observing the middle-aged guard’s attempt to assist him.

‘Sir Johnson, you must be tired from the drive,’ the guard replied.

‘I didn’t hire you to open my car for me. I hired you to serve the school,’ Mr. Johnson retorted as he retrieved his briefcase from the back seat. ‘Return to your duty post.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the man responded, making his way back to his post.

Meanwhile, Mr. Johnson strode purposefully to his office, dressed in a navy blue suit and donning black-framed glasses. In his early forties, he possessed a round face, sharp eyes, and a stern demeanour. Upon reaching his office, he spoke into the intercom, announcing, ‘I want to see Mrs. Nnaji in my office.’

Upon hearing this, Dera had the feeling that the principal intended to meet with Mrs. Nnaji to obtain the names of students who had not yet registered for the WASSCE examination in her class. As Dera’s form teacher, she wanted to ask for a bit more time to settle her fees. Dera’s parents had specifically asked her this morning to request an extension from the principal or her form teacher. However, she knew she couldn’t do so now, not while she still had unfinished homework. Letting out a sigh, she proceeded to her classroom, realising there were still ten minutes before the assembly began.

Mrs. Nnaji gathered the files containing the names of the students in her class and made her way to Mr. Johnson’s office. She knocked on the door, and a deep, solemn voice responded, ‘Come in.’

Entering the office, Mrs. Nnaji closed the door and greeted Mr. Johnson, who was seated at his desk reviewing some documents. The only chair available was buried under a pile of books, so Mrs. Nnaji remained standing.

She had decided to plead on Dera’s behalf, hoping to prevent the principal from sending her home due to unpaid fees and allowing her to stay until the money was available.

‘I need the list of those who have paid. For the students who still owe, I want them to leave immediately,’ Mr. Johnson said coldly.

‘We still have about one month before the WASSCE registration ends,’ Mrs. Nnaji smiled, hoping for understanding. ‘I would like to have more time for my student,’ she requested.

‘WASSCE registration was supposed to end last month, but due to defaulters, the council extended the deadline for another month,’ Mr. Johnson replied, glancing up at Mrs. Nnaji. ‘And who is this student?’

‘Chidera Onuoha,’ Mrs. Nnaji replied. ‘She’s an exceptional student, as you are aware. However, her parents are facing financial difficulties. Her mother called me this morning, promising to pay before the registration closes. I would have covered Dera’s registration myself, but I had to settle my son’s urgent hospital bill. It was necessary for his treatment to commence...’

Mrs. Nnaji paused as she noticed Mr. Johnson’s lack of interest in her story, focusing solely on the payment aspect. Mr. Johnson seemed skeptical, doubting the possibility of Dera’s parents being able to pay since they owned a small shop.

‘Surely, she will always be the student with outstanding fees. Students like her will keep requesting extensions,’ Mr. Johnson remarked. ‘If her parents cannot afford to send her to school, they should withdraw her and consider other options. This is a school.’

Mrs. Nnaji felt a sudden wave of sadness. She hadn’t expected the principal to utter such insulting words so easily. ‘Sir, please... give her a little time. We still have one month, right?’

‘Mrs. Nnaji, it’s important to be aware that WAEC strongly advises against late registration. The deadlines set by the council for the registration of school candidates are non-negotiable. Late registration significantly complicates the preparation process. It is unfortunate that Peach Secondary School is experiencing this embarrassment for the first time, as our school has always been proactive in registering our students on time. However, if her parents are unable to afford the registration fees at the moment, it may be worth considering having her write the exam next year. There is no shame in doing so, as many students have taken the WASSCE multiple times in their pursuit of success...’

‘Sir, I understand your point, but then...’

‘Other form teachers have already submitted the continuous assessment score records of their respective classes, with the exception of SS3 class A under your guidance. I’m curious to understand the reason behind this delay. Is it because of the particular student who is facing financial difficulties? Regardless, it is important to prioritise the submission. Anyway, since the student in debt doesn’t want to be part of this year, I advise that you exclude her. In fact, she should stop coming to school.’

‘Everyone deserves a chance. I’m sure the council would also want to give every qualified Nigerian child an opportunity to sit for the examination... I beg you to do the same, sir. Just give her a chance. Just this once, please.’

‘You have valid concerns, Mrs. Nnaji,’ Mr. Johnson responded dismissively. ‘But let’s consider whether Chidera meets the qualifications to sit for the exam. Being qualified for the WAEC exam means being a registered student, not a student with outstanding debts, correct? Do you believe that ranking first in class automatically qualifies someone? The council and we, as individuals, prioritise financial eligibility over intellectual prowess. Intelligence takes a backseat.’ Pausing for a moment, he continued, ‘As her form teacher, why not encourage Chidera to drop out? After all, there is no law stating that success in life is solely dependent on sitting for the WASSCE. She could pursue a trade and, once she has saved enough money, she could then register and sit for her WASSCE. Numerous individuals have pursued the WASSCE after getting married and having children, and they have found happiness in their choices, haven’t they?’

Resolute in her determination, Mrs. Nnaji decided to reframe the conversation and emphasise the potential Dera possessed. She spoke passionately, highlighting Dera’s academic achievements, dedication, and the positive impact she had on her peers.

Mr. Johnson looked at Mrs. Nnaji for a moment and reluctantly said, ‘Okay, but I will give her only two weeks to pay everything she owes our school... everything, including the late registration fees. Of course, she will have to cover the cost of it.’ He then extended his hand, taking the files containing the names of the registered Class A students from Mrs. Nnaji. ‘You may leave now.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ With that, Mrs. Nnaji turned around and headed towards the door. To her surprise, she saw Dera standing there, looking confused with teary eyes.

‘Ma’am, do I still have hope, or am I going to be kicked out of the school?’ Dera asked anxiously. She had wanted to finish her homework before the morning assembly, but she couldn’t concentrate knowing her fate was being decided in Mr. Johnson’s office. While Mrs. Nnaji hadn’t explicitly mentioned anything about the principal enquiring about students who hadn’t registered for the WASSCE, Dera couldn’t shake the feeling that her situation was being deliberated upon. The expression on Mrs. Nnaji’s face spoke volumes, confirming Dera’s suspicion that she was the subject of intense discussion in the office.

‘Mr. Johnson promised to give you two weeks to pay everything you owe.’

‘All right, Ma’am. I give you my word that my parents will strive to meet your expectations.’

‘Dera, you and your family have consistently exceeded my expectations. You don’t need to explain further. It’s not your fault in any way. I genuinely believe everything will turn out well.’ Mrs. Nnaji’s voice was filled with a glimmer of hope.

Just then, the bell rang for the morning assembly, and the students began filing into the school hall for their prayers and hymns. Mr. Johnson flipped through the file, then left it on his desk, grabbed his diary, and headed for the school hall.

As was customary, the principal made some announcements after the prayers. So, Mr. Johnson walked to the podium and shared his quote for the day before making the announcements.

Dera hoped that as Mrs. Nnaji pleaded with the principal on her behalf, he wouldn’t mention her non-payment of school fees and WASSCE registration. But she was wrong.

There was an announcement about the school sponsoring some students in an upcoming mathematics competition. Only the top students from each class would be allowed to participate, and three best students would represent the school in Lagos State. There was also a complaint about students in charge of the school garden not taking care of the plants, something a good gardener wouldn’t allow to happen. What hope was there for a child who couldn’t water the plants and take care of them? Just as one takes care of their body every day, a good gardener tends to the garden, ensuring its flourishing by watering, weeding, and nurturing. Moreover, there were reports of students littering the classrooms.

Finally, Mr. Johnson addressed the issue. His voice changed slightly, indicating that he was about to discuss something serious. Dera was aware that the principal intended to discuss her outstanding debts, particularly her failure to register for the WASSCE examination. However, she tried to reassure herself, believing that her parents, like the other SS3 students’ parents, would procure the necessary funds to register her for the exam.

‘It has come to my attention that a student in SS3 class A hasn’t yet registered for her WASSCE,’ Mr. Johnson began. ‘I am glad, of course, to know that she’s a top student who has made this school proud. However, I won’t tell the West African Examination Council that she wasn’t able to register because she was a top student. For sure WAEC wouldn’t appreciate such a nonsense story. Sob stories are told in drama series, not in reality TV shows.’

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the rows of boys and girls standing in front of Dera. Taking a deep breath, Dera tried to reassure herself that everything would be fine. If the principal called her to the stage, which he was definitely going to do, she would have to walk elegantly and without any nervousness. She wouldn’t let herself stumble on the steps leading up to the stage where the teachers stood. She would remain calm and answer Mr. Johnson’s questions confidently, without any fear.

‘So, I won’t keep you in further suspense as to who this student is,’ Mr. Johnson said with a slight sigh. ‘Chidera Onuoha, could you please come up here.’

As soon as the principal uttered those words, everyone’s attention shifted to Chidera, affectionately known as Dera. She mustered a warm smile, taking confident steps toward the stage, determined not to let Mr. Johnson’s words affect her. She focused on maintaining grace and composure, ensuring a smooth ascent up the stage where the principal stood.

‘Dera, I brought you up here not to embarrass you, but to wake you up from your sleep,’ Mr. Johnson began. ‘I know that you’re a smart student, but smartness doesn’t pay school fees.’ He paused. ‘When I was in secondary school, I sold my wristwatch so that I could buy a mathematics textbook for myself. I’m not suggesting you sell your bicycle, but I want you to know that you have only two weeks to pay up. If not, I will have to expel you. Do you understand?’

Dera nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. She should have known that Mr. Johnson’s promise of two weeks would come with the embarrassment of facing the entire school.

Dera told herself that she must keep smiling, not letting Mr. Johnson’s words change her demeanour. Just think about your dream of becoming a renowned journalist and nothing else, she thought as she walked back to her place in line. She focused on her smile, even when some students laughed at her. The smile helped her overcome the ridicule, and if there were tears in her eyes, no one would notice.

She maintained her smile as Mr. Johnson informed the students that he wasn’t running a charity home but a school meant to yield profit. Her friends from her class nudged her to answer the principal’s question about joining the gardening team until her payment was made. She was also prohibited from using the library. Dera clenched her teeth together and maintained her smile as she responded to him.

Was the principal really punishing her for owing the school, or does he want her to join the gardening team? Regardless, Dera loves gardening, so she didn’t consider it a big deal to plant flowers and water them. She noticed the principal looking at her intently. Despite feeling embarrassed in front of the whole school, she promised herself not to hate him. She understood that he was just doing his job, and as a businessman, his priority was making money. However, she found it disappointing that instead of encouraging her not to give up, he chose to say hurtful things. He was the one who had taught the students to audaciously dream, but now he had shattered Dera’s belief in the audacity of hope.

Dera kept her smile on until it was time to leave the hall and go to their classrooms. Then, she let the threatening tears take over as she ran to the school garden to find solace. She didn’t know whom to seek help from, but if she did, she would hurry immediately, regardless of what others might think, because saving her future was more important than anything else.

As she cried and contemplated her next steps, her friend Jennifer appeared in front of her.

‘Mr. Johnson wants to see you,’ Jennifer said.

‘Okay, I’ll go see him right away.’

Dera wiped her tears and rushed to Mr. Johnson’s office. Standing at the door, she looked at the nameplate that read “Chibueze Johnson, Principal of Peach Secondary School.” Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ Mr. Johnson said.

Dera pushed the door open and entered. Mr. Johnson stood by the window with a smile on his face, a sight she had only seen during his motivational speeches at assembly. This confused Dera. Could it be that a miracle had happened?

‘Sir, you wanted to see me?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I need to talk to you,’ Mr. Johnson replied.

‘What is it, sir?’

After a moment of silence, Mr. Johnson said, ‘I wanted to ask if you’re sure your parents will really clear your debt. I don’t want to delay the submission of the registered students just for you, only to hear another sob story in the end.’

Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes again. ‘I hope...’

‘I don’t believe in hope, Dera. Even though I give motivational speeches every morning, I don’t believe in just hoping. I don’t believe in money miracles, only in healing miracles. For money, I have to work hard, and for healing, I have to pray hard. However, since healing comes from GOD, I believe in it. But for money, I don’t sit back and hope to get it. You still have to pay the two-term fees you owe the school. If not, how will you register for your WASSCE, which costs about thirty-eight thousand naira? And I’m not even mentioning NECO because I’ve already closed that page. It’s not possible, right?’

‘My parents assured me this morning that they will pay and...’ Dera’s voice trailed off.

‘And?’ Mr. Johnson looked at her intently.

‘And... they will not disappoint you. They pleaded for more time,’ Dera replied, struggling to speak.

‘For late registration, you’ll have to pay an extra five thousand naira. You’re good at math, so you can do the calculation,’ Mr. Johnson remarked.

Dera had hoped that Mr. Johnson would register her from the school’s funds and spare her the shame of late registration, which she would have to pay anyway. But Mr. Johnson had no intention of doing so.

‘Sir...’

‘Peach Secondary School is a well-respected institution known for its high teaching standards and impressive enrollment rate here in Imo State. Although I granted you admission to this school due to your father being my secondary school mate, it’s important to understand that the school requires funds to operate. Therefore, I can no longer tolerate your financial difficulties. I will give you a two-week deadline, and if you fail to meet it, I will have to remove you from the school.’

‘When my father had a job, he always prioritised my school fees above everything else...’

‘But now that he has lost his job, what about the situation at hand? Is your father the chairman of Peach Secondary School? No, he isn’t. So why should I make an exception for you? I am simply doing my job. Don’t take it personally. Dera, if you are unable to pay, I can assist you in transferring to a more affordable school. Before you get angry with me, ask yourself this: What if your parents are unable to gather the funds? What if I waited for you in vain? Would you have the conscience to face your classmates, knowing that the school couldn’t submit their details for the examination because of your unpaid fees?’

Dera’s gaze dropped, her spirit deflated, and she anxiously rubbed her trembling hands together, tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted to respond to Mr. Johnson’s questions, but words eluded her. Doubt gnawed at her, and she couldn’t help but fear that he might be right in his assessment.

Slowly, she glanced up, ready to reply, but Mr. Johnson gestured for her to leave his office. ‘Go back to class,’ he curtly instructed. As Dera turned to depart, he added in a callous tone, ‘Despite my previous mention of your inclusion in the gardening team during the assembly, I have reconsidered. I would prefer if you no longer join the team and instead take sole responsibility for tending to the garden...’ With those words, Mr. Johnson unfastened his suit jacket, gracefully draping it over the back of his chair.

After leaving Mr. Johnson’s office, Dera headed straight to her classroom. As she reached the door, a hush fell over the room, followed by laughter from the students.

Everyone tried their best to cheer up Dera without her knowing their hidden plan to contribute money and support her in whatever way they could. However, in that moment, Dera’s mood prevented her from deciphering their hidden intentions, even though she had a sense that they were withholding something from her.

‘Dera, you’re incredible! If Mr. Johnson had treated me the way he did to you today, I would have burst into tears. I can’t believe how composed you are,’ one of her classmates expressed.

‘Top students don’t cry,’ another classmate chimed in proudly. ‘You handled that situation admirably, Dera.’

‘Dera, your resilience is truly inspiring.’

‘Yes, absolutely! Dera, never stop holding onto hope, okay?’

Inwardly, Dera murmured, I wish I could still hold onto hope. Unfortunately, Mr. Johnson shattered it just a few moments ago, as she retrieved her Government notebook and pen.

Concern was evident on the faces of her classmates. Despite being students who relied on their parents, they genuinely wanted to assist Dera in any way they could. Dera sensed their genuine concern, realising they weren’t mocking her.

‘Why does everyone appear so downcast?’ the Government teacher enquired as she gracefully entered the classroom, exuding elegance in her beige blazer layered over a crisp white top. Completing her ensemble, she combined it with a black skirt and comfortable flats. ‘Attention, everyone. Kindly direct your attention to page 105 of your Government textbooks.’

Upon seeing the teacher, the other students promptly retrieved their Government textbooks and flipped to the specified page.

The young female teacher glanced at Dera and remarked, ‘Dera, dreams come without a cost, so never cease dreaming.’

Those words breathed life back into Dera’s hope. Gratitude illuminated her face as she beamed. Taking a deep breath, she felt a renewed determination coursing through her veins. She knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but she was prepared to face the challenges head-on.

Since she didn’t have her own Government textbook, she leaned over to read from her desk partner’s book.

                                                                                                ***

The Government class came to an end as the bell for the change of lesson rang. Soon, it was time for the break. The students brought their snacks to eat in the classroom, and they were careful about crumbs for fear of attracting mice. Dera had brought a doughnut for herself from home, but she had no appetite to eat it. She unwrapped the bag, looked at the doughnut, and then wrapped it again. Jennifer, who sat beside her, looked at the doughnut and wanted a bite.

‘If you don’t mind...’ Jennifer hesitated.

‘You can have it,’ Dera said as she passed the doughnut to her.

‘Thank you,’ Jennifer said happily.                        

Due to the rain, the students couldn’t go to the cafeteria for lunch as they would get drenched before reaching there. Having lunch in the classroom was not the most appealing option, but the rain left them no choice. The smell of food filled the room, and the students chatted as they ate.

‘This doughnut tastes lovely,’ Jennifer said through a mouthful. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to eat it?’

‘If I wanted it, I wouldn’t have given it away,’ Dera replied with a watery smile.

‘Are you feeling all right?’ Jennifer expressed concern. ‘You look like you’re in deep pain.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Dera said. ‘I’m fine.’ She was saying it more to reassure herself than to Jennifer who was busy taking another giant bite of her doughnut and savouring it. The doughnut was indeed delicious, and it seemed unlikely that anyone would give up such a tasty snack. But Dera did, because she wasn’t in the mood for something delicious at that moment.

Jennifer, the eldest among her siblings, found herself facing a unique situation. While her younger siblings were enrolled in a prestigious boarding school, Jennifer had the freedom to choose between a boarding school and a day school. After carefully considering her options, she ultimately decided to attend Peach Secondary School, primarily driven by her deep bond with her best friend, Dera. Their friendship meant the world to Jennifer, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from Dera. Understanding the significance of this connection, Jennifer openly expressed her desire to attend the same school as Dera, and her parents fully supported her decision without any hesitation or questioning.

However, as Jennifer became more involved in Dera’s life, she became aware of her friend’s struggles. It all began three years ago when Dera’s father, Emeka, lost his job. Prior to this unfortunate event, Dera’s family, although not wealthy, managed to meet their financial obligations, including Dera’s school fees. However, their circumstances took a drastic turn when the company Emeka worked for faced bankruptcy, leading to the unfortunate layoff of a significant number of employees, including Emeka himself. The sudden loss of income had a profound impact on Dera’s family, causing financial strain and affecting their ability to settle her school fees.

Dera’s bright smile may have masked her sadness, but Jennifer was acutely aware of the heavy burden weighing upon her friend’s shoulders. She knew that Dera was not only burdened by the debt owed to the school but also the financial strain of WASSCE registration. Jennifer longed to alleviate this burden and lift the weight of debt from her friend’s shoulders. She fervently wished for an opportunity to help Dera overcome this financial challenge and restore her friend’s peace of mind.

Just then, Mrs. Nnaji entered the classroom, and the noise subsided. She gave a few instructions, ‘Make sure to sweep out the crumbs and open the window to let in some fresh air.’

‘But it’s raining outside. We might catch a cold,’ a student remarked.

‘If you’re cold, put on your sweater. Open the window at once! Were you so hungry that you didn’t put away your books before eating? Next time, make sure to put away your books before you start eating.’ Glancing at Dera, she added, ‘Dera, can you come to my office after you finish your lunch?’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Dera replied. Although she wanted to go to Mrs. Nnaji’s office, she didn’t want to be reminded that she was the only SS3 student who hadn’t registered for her WASSCE. However, she wouldn’t blame Mrs. Nnaji. The form teacher had tried to help her, and Dera would be grateful to her for the rest of her life.

As Dera walked down the hallway, filled with students chatting and some going to and from the restroom, preparing for the next class after the break, she avoided looking at them. She didn’t want to be the centre of their gossip.

When Dera entered the office, she saw Mrs. Nnaji on the phone. As soon as Mrs. Nnaji spotted Dera, she quickly finished her conversation and hung up. She nodded at Dera and said, ‘Take a seat.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Dera responded respectfully. She obediently walked towards the seat facing Mrs. Nnaji and settled herself down, attentive and ready for the conversation ahead.

Dera, I didn’t call you here to remind you of your WASSCE registration or anything. Rather, I called you here to cheer you up because you’re my top student and you make me proud,’ Mrs. Nnaji said with a smile. As she spoke, she reached into her bag and took out a small package, her eyes filled with hope that Dera would like it. She handed the gift to Dera.

‘Ma’am, is this some kind of secret prize?’ Dera joked, and Mrs. Nnaji laughed.

‘Well, you can call it anything you like,’ Mrs. Nnaji replied playfully, observing that Dera had made no attempt to untie the string. ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

‘I’ll do that at home,’ Dera said, her smile sweet and grateful.

‘Don’t wait until you get home, it might turn into a letter bomb,’ Mrs. Nnaji teased. ‘Go ahead and open it and let the bomb explode already.’

Dera laughed and gently opened the present. Mrs. Nnaji had bought her the book a week ago and had forgotten to give it to her. But today, she had remembered it and made sure that Dera received the gift.

Dera couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the book. It was Barack Obama’s The Audacity of Hope, the second book written by the former president of the United States of America. It was a beautiful book.

Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes as she read the title aloud. “The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream.”

‘Dera, I see that you have a few school textbooks, but I want the book you’re currently holding to be the first addition to your personal library,’ Mrs. Nnaji said, her voice filled with hope. ‘I know I couldn’t assist you with your registration, despite my promise. Please forgive me.’ She gazed at Dera with sincerity. ‘One day, when you have your own magnificent library, you will recall this day. You will proudly present this book to everyone, sharing how you never abandoned your dreams. You will say that this first book instilled in you the audacity to hope for a new beginning.’

‘Will my dreams come true?’ Dera asked, her eyes searching for reassurance about her future.

‘Dera, you will undoubtedly fulfill your dreams if you truly desire to. Our destiny is shaped by our own determination. You can achieve anything you set your mind to,’ Mrs. Nnaji assured her warmly.

Dera’s voice carried a hint of doubt as she asked, ‘Really, ma’am?’ She wondered if her dreams could only be fulfilled by marrying a wealthy man. And what about her WASSCE? Would she have the opportunity to sit for the exam with her classmates, or would she become a dropout student?

Mrs. Nnaji looked into Dera’s eyes, her voice filled with conviction. ‘Dera, you’re a bright student. I have no doubt at all.’

Dera looked at the book in her hands, gently stroking its cover. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

Mrs. Nnaji took a deep breath, ready to unveil the intriguing origin of the book’s title. ‘Let me share with you the remarkable story behind the title,’ she began. ‘It is said that the inspiration for the title came from a sermon delivered by Jeremiah Wright, a former pastor of Barack Obama. Wright attended a lecture by Frederick G. Sampson in the late 1980s, which focused on the George Watts painting “Hope.”  This painting left a profound impact on Wright, prompting him to deliver a sermon in 1990 centred on the painting’s theme.’

As Mrs. Nnaji spoke, Dera’s curiosity grew, her attention fixed on the tale of the bandaged woman who embodied resilience and held onto hope.

‘In Wright’s sermon, he described the painting depicting a bandaged woman sitting atop the world, her harp broken but with a single string remaining. Despite her visible sorrow, she dared to pluck that one string, offering praise to God,’ Mrs. Nnaji explained.

Dera listened intently, captivated by the unwavering spirit of the woman in the painting. The audacity to hope, even in the face of adversity, resonated deeply within her.

‘After attending Wright’s sermon, Barack Obama adapted the phrase “audacity to hope” to “audacity of hope,” which eventually became the title of the book you hold in your hands,’ Mrs. Nnaji continued, taking a sip of water from the table. She paused for a moment, her gaze fixed on Dera. ‘Dera, there are few individuals in this world who possess the resilience and unwavering spirit of that bandaged woman. They may not display visible signs of strength, but they never give up on hope,’ Mrs. Nnaji said with a warm smile, radiating hope. She emphasised, ‘In the face of difficulty and uncertainty, always hold onto hope. It is a powerful force that can carry you through the darkest of times.’

Dera felt a surge of inspiration as she absorbed Mrs. Nnaji’s words. The story of the bandaged woman and the audacity of hope resonated deeply within her. She understood that no matter the challenges that lay ahead, she would cling to hope and nurture it, allowing it to guide her through the journey of life.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Dera replied, her heart filled with gratitude and a renewed sense of optimism.

Mrs. Nnaji smiled warmly. ‘It’s my pleasure,’ she responded. ‘When you dive into the pages of that book in your hand, you’ll not only understand, but also appreciate Barack Obama’s unique perspective on the audacity of hope.’

Dera’s smile widened, her anticipation growing. ‘I will savour every page, immersing myself in the wisdom and inspiration it holds,’ she declared, rising to her feet.

With a sense of purpose and excitement, Dera turned towards the door, ready to embark on her journey with the book in hand. She knew that within those pages lay a world of possibility and insight, waiting to be discovered.

As Dera started to leave the room, Mrs. Nnaji called out to her, her voice filled with encouragement. ‘Dera, as long as you remain willing, you can go anywhere you want. If you refuse to let hope succumb to hopelessness, you will transcend any limits.’

Dera turned around, her gaze meeting Mrs. Nnaji’s. ‘My father has made numerous attempts to obtain a visa and pursue better opportunities abroad, but he has faced constant disappointments. I had lost hope that he would ever be able to travel, and I had also given up on the idea of leaving this country because it felt impossible. However, your presence and encouragement have restored my hope. With your support, I believe I could accomplish even the unimaginable, like travelling to the moon. Thank you, ma’am,’ Dera expressed her gratitude sincerely. With renewed determination, she turned and walked out of the office.

***

The day went by quickly, and as the final school bell rang, the students started making their way home. Riding home that day, Dera was filled with hope, and as the wind blew her hair into a mess, she felt that it was the wind of hope.

When she reached home, she quickly changed into a simple yellow dress and headed to the shop to help out.

Dera brought her Literature textbook along, determined to make the most of her free moments by delving into its pages. Her father had ventured out to meet some friends seeking their assistance in borrowing money for Dera’s WASSCE registration. Meanwhile, her mother remained engrossed in her tasks in the backyard of the shop. As Dera was the only one inside the shop, she did her best to serve the customers while skillfully carving out precious moments to immerse herself in the captivating world of her book.

‘Deep in your book, huh?’ a mocking voice interrupted Dera’s concentration.

Dera’s gaze rose to meet the sight of the stunning woman standing before her. She donned a breathtaking light pink trouser suit, exquisitely tailored, accentuated by a delicate white belt and complemented by matching pumps. Enhancing her ensemble, she adorned herself with dainty pearl earrings, while her wavy hair cascaded gracefully down her shoulders. Recognising the woman’s identity, Dera quickly apologised, saying, ‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’

‘Shouldn’t you pay attention to your customers instead of that book?’ Sharon said, mocking Dera. She was Jennifer’s mother and a regular customer who often came to the shop to find faults rather than buy something, as she would usually toss whatever she bought into the trash can at the front entrance.

‘I apologise,’ Dera said again, trying her best not to offend Sharon.

‘I don’t have time to listen to your apologies. I want to buy a carton of small-sized milk drink and a loaf of bread that is if you have time to serve me. Perhaps I should wait for your mother...’ Sharon’s voice was filled with ridicule.

‘No, no,’ Dera pushed the book away. ‘What did you say you want?’

‘I told you already,’ Sharon snapped.

‘Yeah, I remember,’ Dera replied slowly and retrieved the carton of milk drink and bread, carefully placing them in a blue plastic bag. Her intense expression made Sharon feel guilty for her earlier rudeness. Dera saw through Sharon’s intentions and knew that Sharon hadn’t come to shop; she had come to mock her. Despite the tragic events in Dera’s life and the uncertainty of being able to sit for the exam, she hadn’t stopped studying and remained hopeful. ‘Ma’am, the total is nine hundred naira.’

Sharon opened her bag and took out a one thousand naira note, handing it to Dera. ‘Dera, my daughter told me everything that happened. The WASSCE examination determines the academic progress of students and their eligibility for further studies. The result is internationally recognised. Students who perform well in the WASSCE exam have a higher chance of gaining admission into tertiary institutions. Since you’ve lost so much concentration due to poverty, how are you going to cope with the exams if you manage to register? Anyway, I suggest you get yourself a job; that way, you can expedite the registration process.’

‘I am still a secondary school student. Finding a suitable job won’t be easy.’

‘Dera, I suggested you get a job because I feel sorry for you. There is a butcher’s shop close by. It may not be a glamorous job, but you can still save a little for your registration.’

Dera sighed and looked at Sharon. ‘Ma’am, are you suggesting that I work somewhere else?’

‘If you don’t want to work at the butcher’s shop because you can’t deal with selling meat to customers, you could try the chemist or maybe work as a newspaper vendor since you want to be a journalist. What about working in a hotel? I could recommend a few where you could make quick cash. Lastly, you could work for me for the rest of your life. Just be my slave, and I will take good care of you.’

‘No thank you, Sharon. My daughter would prefer to earn her own wages in our shop,’ Beatrice said from the back door as she walked inside.

Sharon turned to Beatrice. ‘I hope you get the money quickly, or else your daughter will have to repeat another year.’

‘She won’t repeat another year,’ Beatrice said hopefully.

‘Then go to school and pay up,’ Sharon mocked. Turning back to Dera, Sharon said, ‘Give me my change. I need to get out of this stinking place.’

‘It’s hundred naira, ma’am.’

‘I know. I gave you one thousand naira,’ Sharon scoffed.

‘Dera, hurry up and give Sharon her change if you don’t want to hear another suggestion. She might suggest you work in a morgue.’

‘Ma’am, I have given you your change,’ Dera looked at Sharon and said.

‘When?’

‘Before you suggested that I should get a job,’ Dera replied. ‘Ma’am, you put the money in your handbag. Please check your bag; you’ll find it there,’ Dera said.

‘Did you take my change with the intention of using it for your WASSCE funds? How could you betray the trust of a loyal customer like this? If you were in need of money, you could have simply asked me instead of resorting to stealing from me in such a manner.’

‘I didn’t steal anything. I gave you your change.’

‘I’m so sorry, Sharon,’ Beatrice apologised, her voice filled with remorse. She walked over to the drawer where they kept the money, took out a hundred naira note, and handed it to Sharon. ‘Please accept this. You may leave now.’

Dera, feeling unjustly accused, spoke up. ‘Mum, by giving her the money, you doubt your own daughter.’

Beatrice looked at Dera with a soft gaze. ‘I trust you, Dera,’ she reassured her.

Dera insisted, ‘Then you should have let her check her bag first before giving her that hundred naira note...’

The curious onlookers in the shop watched the tense exchange.

‘Dera, you’re my daughter’s friend. How could you do something like this to me?’

‘Please forgive this, Sharon,’ Beatrice implored, eager for Sharon to leave.

As Sharon opened her bag to put away the hundred naira note, she noticed another one already there—the one given to her by Dera. ‘I wouldn’t have hidden it anyway,’ Sharon announced to everyone in the shop. ‘It was a mistake on my part.’

‘It’s all right, ma’am. You didn’t steal your money. It was simply an oversight when you hurriedly placed it in your bag because you were interested in suggesting that I work somewhere else,’ Dera explained, still feeling hurt.

A few customers began whispering among themselves, making Sharon feel embarrassed.

Sharon mustered a forced smile as she returned the extra hundred naira note to Beatrice. Leaning in closer to Dera, she remarked, ‘Dera, you’re like a beautiful rose, but unfortunately, you lack depth.’ She sniffed, then added, ‘You remind me of the musky smell of petrichor that often emanates from plants.’

Mockingly, Dera replied, ‘If you’re familiar with the scent of petrichor, then you must be deeply connected to farming. Are you a farmer? Did you perhaps feel a deep sense of nostalgia during the first rain when the petrichor fragrance filled the air?’ Dera reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle, gasping with delight. ‘I bought this from a roadside perfume vendor. In case you run out of perfume, I’d be happy to offer you a little. It’s quite affordable.’

Sharon scoffed, retorting, ‘You bought toilet water! Oh, Dera...how cheap! My initial assessment of you seems to have been accurate.’

Undeterred, Dera gazed at the beautiful little bottle adorned with a delicate rose on the label. Opening it, she allowed the gentle fragrance of roses to tickle her senses. A smile graced her face as she carefully returned the bottle to her pocket. Meeting Sharon’s gaze, she asked, ‘Can you smell it, ma’am?’

‘She can’t because she has catarrh,’ a man chimed in, causing laughter to erupt among the shop’s patrons.

‘Dera, instead of wasting your time on purchasing toilet water, why not channel your efforts into figuring out how to register for your WASSCE? Otherwise, you’ll be left behind. By the way, Jennifer aspires to become a flight attendant for an international airline, but I want her to aim higher. My aspiration for her is to become a lawyer. I have the means to send her to the best law school. As her mother, I will do what’s best for her. On the other hand, your own mother manages a small shop, and it seems you have no dreams. Just accept my suggestions, or you’ll end up marrying a wealthy sugar daddy with a protruding stomach, who brings no value except for incessant snoring from dawn till dusk. I’m leaving now. This place reeks of your cheap toilet water,’ Sharon scoffed, rolling her eyes as she stormed out of the shop.

Everyone turned to the entrance and witnessed Sharon tossing the plastic bag into the trash can.

Witnessing this act, Dera couldn’t help but quietly express her realisation, whispering, ‘Just as I suspected.’

At that moment, a group of secondary school students entered the shop to buy snacks, their youthful energy permeating the air. Beatrice, spotting their arrival, promptly moved to assist them. Meanwhile, Dera remained rooted in place, silently listening to their conversations, feeling as if they had never experienced any pain or hardship in their lives. It made her world feel even more fragile, as if it could crumble at any moment.

***

Overwhelmed by her emotions, Dera decided she couldn’t continue serving the customers. She left the shop and headed straight to her small bedroom. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she allowed herself to release her pain through tears. She wept for the future she so desperately wanted but felt was slipping away. If her father still had his job, she would have been able to register for her WASSCE. At that moment, she could only pray for enough money to at least register for the WASSCE exam.

Her tears fell silently as she remained determined to keep moving forward. Dera longed to write the exam alongside her classmates and fulfill her dreams. She wished for her father to regain his job and for her mother’s small shop to prosper, providing enough income to solve their problems without having to rely on others. Salty tears streamed down her face, dripping off her chin and even reaching her lips, leaving a bitter taste. She sobbed so intensely that she started to hiccup.

Sharon’s suggestion of finding work elsewhere crossed her mind. Dera wondered if it was a viable option. She contemplated the possibility of selling her bicycle, recalling Mr. Johnson’s remark about sacrificing his wristwatch to buy mathematics textbook, even though his words lacked encouragement and bordered on ridicule. Nonetheless, Dera felt compelled to take a similar approach. Additionally, the words of Mrs. Nnaji echoed in her thoughts, resonating within her being: “If you refuse to let hope succumb to hopelessness, you will transcend any limits.” Those empowering words filled Dera’s heart with renewed hope and determination.

As her tears gradually subsided, Dera reached out to wipe them away. She stood up and walked over to the kitchen sink, splashing cold water on her face to freshen up. After drying her face with a small towel, she caught a delightful whiff of freshly made doughnuts on the kitchen counter. Tempted by their aroma, she couldn’t resist and took two doughnuts from the basket. Dera prepared a warm glass of milk for herself and sat down at the kitchen table, savouring her snack.

Feeling a renewed sense of determination, Dera returned to her room and began studying. She refused to let anything discourage her, firmly believing that it wasn’t over until it truly was. As a senior in SS3, she understood the importance of the WASSCE exam, which would pave the way to university. While many students enrolled in extra-mural classes to prepare for the exams, Dera hadn’t had that opportunity. Nevertheless, she clung to her unwavering hope.

Sitting at her study desk, Dera meticulously reviewed the contents of her textbooks and notebooks. She was an exceptional student with a remarkable ability to absorb and retain information. She diligently transcribed every detail from her readings, ensuring she didn’t have to rely on others for answers during exams, unlike many of her classmates.

Pushing thoughts of impossibility aside, Dera immersed herself in her studies. She delved into her textbooks, practiced solving questions, and diligently recorded her notes. After approximately two hours of intense focus, exhaustion took over, and she dozed off.

Beatrice returned home and checked on Dera, finding her peacefully asleep in the chair. With care and affection, she removed Dera’s jacket and hung it on a hanger in her small room. Gently, she lifted Dera and carried her to bed, tucking her in with a cosy blanket. Adjusting Dera’s head, she slipped a pillow behind her neck. She pulled off her slippers, and smilingly switched off the light and left the room.

                                                                        ***

When Dera woke up the next morning, she glanced at the gentle sunlight streaming into her room through the window. A soft smile graced her lips, and just as she was about to throw off the covers and get out of bed, Beatrice, dressed and ready to go to the shop, entered with a tray of piping hot breakfast.

Beatrice placed the plate of spaghetti and the glass of milk on the table in the room. She looked at Dera and said, ‘Hey, you have school today. Are you planning to sleep all day?’

‘Mum, I was about to get up before you walked in,’ Dera rubbed her eyes and replied as she sat up on the bed.

‘I’m... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you yesterday. I trusted what you said, but I didn’t want the topic to continue, so I gave Sharon another hundred naira note,’ Beatrice lowered her eyes, not knowing what else to say.

Dera smiled. ‘Mum, don’t blame yourself. I know you were trying to protect me. Yes, I felt hurt, but after thinking about it, I realised that if you were in my shoes, I would have done the same for you. I’m sorry too.’

‘Yesterday... did your principal say anything after you asked for some time?’ Beatrice asked softly.

‘He gave us two weeks,’ Dera paused. ‘Did dad manage to get the money?’

Beatrice shook her head. ‘They all had reasons why they couldn’t help,’ she sighed. ‘If your father hadn’t lost his job three years ago, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Now we run a small shop that barely makes a profit... I just hope everything will turn out right.’

Dera looked at her mother. ‘Mum, please find a buyer for my bicycle. I need to sell it.’

Beatrice gazed into Dera’s calm eyes. She felt that her daughter didn’t deserve to suffer like this. That bicycle was a gift from her elder brother two years ago, and Dera had cherished it so much. Now she was willing to let it go? Beatrice felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Her daughter was only sixteen years old, yet she seemed so mature, so strong, and smiled so sweetly, as if everything was okay. But Beatrice knew there was pain deep within her, waiting to be released like a torrent of tears.

‘Dera... can you stretch out your right hand, please?’ Beatrice said softly.

Dera was puzzled but didn’t hesitate. She stretched out her right hand, and Beatrice gently held it in her own, her calloused fingers massaging Dera’s hand tenderly.

‘By May/June, you’ll use this hand to write your WASSCE,’ Beatrice said, looking at her daughter.

Dera looked back at her mother. ‘I hope so,’ she said softly.

‘Definitely,’ Beatrice assured her.

Dera felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder and leaned into it. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s hand, and they sat there silently, finding solace in each other’s presence. Then, Dera let out a sigh.

‘Mum... I was thinking about what Jennifer’s mother said, and I thought maybe I should get a job and help...’

‘You need to ignore her words and focus on your studies. You can get a job after you graduate from university, or you can even become your own boss.’ Beatrice stroked Dera’s hair gently. ‘Dera, you’re my only daughter, and I’ll treat you like a princess, even if it’s in small ways.’ She kissed the centre of Dera’s palm, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘Never stop hoping. Your father and I will do everything possible to register you and also clear your debts.’

Dera felt her mother’s tears, and immediately tears welled up in her own eyes. She reached out and affectionately hugged her mother, finding comfort in their embrace.

***

With her bicycle up for sale, Dera decided to walk to school. The morning sun bathed her in a warm glow as she strolled along, humming a tune to keep herself from dwelling on anything that would bring tears to her eyes.

No matter what, she was determined to continue studying hard and hoped to participate in this year’s WASSCE with her classmates. Standing in front of the gates of Peach Secondary School, she looked up at the school’s name boldly displayed overhead. As she gazed at those towering letters, she made a silent vow to never give up.

At the gate, Dera greeted the security guards and was about to enter when one of them stopped her.

‘Miss Onuoha, wait a minute,’ the guard called out.

Dera paused and smiled as the guard approached her. ‘Sir, is everything all right?’

The security guard sighed and replied, ‘The principal has given us strict instructions regarding you. I’m sorry, Dera, but I’ll have to check you with this.’ He lifted the metal detector, typically used to screen outsiders. ‘Since you haven’t paid, the principal doesn’t see you as a student.’

Hearing the words of the security guard, tears welled up in Dera’s eyes, but she wiped them away and maintained a smile. ‘Okay, go ahead,’ she said calmly.

The guard scanned Dera’s body with the metal detector, finding nothing suspicious. ‘I’m really sorry... you may proceed,’ he said, opening the gate and allowing her entry.

Dera felt a mixture of emotions. Entering the school grounds, she wore a bittersweet smile. She walked alone, observing the groups of students carrying their neatly packed school bags, engrossed in lively conversations as they made their way to class. They seemed to be burden-free, untouched by suffering and pain, embracing the sweetness of life.

The weather was beautiful that day. Dera couldn’t help but gaze at the azure blue sky above her. Instead of smiling, an overwhelming urge to cry washed over her. She paid no attention to the whispers around her, knowing that most of them revolved around her unpaid school fees for two terms and the apparent impossibility of sitting for her WASSCE this year.

‘School gossip doesn’t hurt me one bit,’ she muttered to herself, seeking solace within. Determined, she continued walking towards the school building. As she approached the entrance, she spotted three girls from the SS1 class chatting on a bench.

‘Hello, girls,’ Dera greeted cheerfully. However, the girls ignored her and carried on with their conversation. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Dera paused, glancing at them.

‘We heard you, senior,’ one of them replied arrogantly. ‘But since you still owe the school and might be kicked out, we better start ignoring you now to get used to it.’

‘I am still your senior and deserve respect,’ Dera said softly.

‘Only those with money deserve respect,’ another girl, her hair tied in a bun, retorted.

‘If I were you, I’d consider dropping out,’ commented the third girl with a look of disgust on her face. ‘Because of you, our school’s long-standing prestige will be destroyed.’

‘Dera will soon be leaving anyway. There’s no point in wasting our breath,’ added the girl in a bun.

The trio then stood up and walked away, leaving Dera standing there, unsure of what to do. After a moment of contemplation, she decided to make her way to class. Deep down, Dera knew that her worth wasn’t defined by the opinions of others. She possessed strength, resilience, and an unwavering belief in herself. With her studies and aspirations in mind, she knew she had the power to overcome any obstacles that crossed her path.

Just as she reached the entrance, someone suddenly patted her back. Startled, Dera turned around and sighed in relief when she saw Jennifer standing behind her.

‘Jennifer, I’m not in the mood,’ Dera said, her voice filled with a mix of emotions.

‘Hey, I thought we agreed to tell each other everything. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about my mother. You have your phone, you could have called me,’ Jennifer said, sounding genuinely hurt.

Jennifer, a little shorter than Dera with a darker complexion, had been Dera’s best friend since childhood. Despite constant comparisons, they were both beautiful girls with amazing smiles.

‘My mother told me everything about yesterday. I’m sorry,’ Jennifer said, her voice filled with sincerity.

Dera glanced at Jennifer, still harbouring some anger towards Jennifer’s mother. ‘Yeah, your mum accused me of stealing from her, but she later found out that she had misplaced her own money,’ Dera stated. ‘And why does your mother consistently come to our shop, even though she purchases items online or from high-end supermarkets and shopping malls? It feels like she does it to mock and belittle me and my family. We may not have the same wealth as yours, but we strive to earn an honest living. She should understand that my family would never engage in anything that tarnishes our reputation. It puzzles me how someone who is educated can behave in such a manner, like an educated fool.’

‘What did you say?’ Jennifer asked, her face furrowing in a frown.

Dera sighed and, after a moment, replied, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. But yes, your mum did accuse me, and I was really hurt. She also apologised. News travels fast in this school. Everyone knows me as the student in debt...’

‘Dera, I know you’re hurt. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have told my mum,’ Jennifer interrupted, remorse evident in her voice.

‘Thank you for telling her. Because of what you did, she suggested that I look for work. That’s actually a good idea. So, thank you so much,’ Dera said, her tone softer now.

Dera made her way to her usual seat in the classroom and sat down. Jennifer settled into her own seat moments later. A few minutes passed, and the principal’s voice came over the intercom.

‘Can Dera go to the garden and tend to the plants? She should not enter the classroom until I give her permission to do so,’ the principal announced.

‘She’s on her way,’ Jennifer muttered as Dera walked out of the classroom.

Dera headed to the school’s garden, where she hoped to revive the struggling plants and make them flourish once again. She stopped by the janitor’s office to grab gloves, a watering can, and other gardening equipment. As she arrived at the garden, she noticed Jennifer already tending to the plants.

‘When did you get here?’ Dera asked, a bit surprised. ‘Are you now flying Jatt?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jennifer apologised instead, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t have told my mum about it...’ Her voice trailed off, filled with regret. ‘Honestly, I told her because I wanted her to help you somehow, not to mock you. Please, forgive me.’

Dera could see the sincerity in Jennifer’s eyes, and she couldn’t help but feel touched. She took Jennifer’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m not mad at you,’ Dera said, a sweet smile spreading across her face.

‘What was that about Flying Jatt?’ Jennifer asked curiously after a while.

‘Flying Jatt is a 2016 Indian superhero film co-written and directed by Remo D’Souza, produced under the banner of Balaji Motion Pictures,’ Dera explained. ‘The superhero’s enhanced strength, speed, and flight abilities are similar to Superman’s. When I saw you here in front of me, it reminded me of the film.’

Jennifer chuckled. ‘I’m familiar with the movie, but I couldn’t resist teasing you a little.’

‘Oh, you got me!’ Dera playfully responded.       

‘Hey, I’m a fan of Captain America, Shazam, Iron Man, Black Adam, Hulk, Hawkeye, Wonder Woman, Thor, Superman, Ant-Man, Spider-Man...’ Jennifer listed her favourite superheroes.

‘Wow, you’re such a fan of superhero films. Maybe you should consider starring in one and joining the ranks of the Justice League or the Justice Society,’ Dera playfully suggested, sparking laughter from Jennifer. 

As they continued their conversation, they immersed themselves in their respective activities, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company.

Dera had always had a deep connection with nature and growing things. Though she wasn’t officially part of the school’s gardening team, she handled plants with delicacy and expertise. Being in the garden seemed to ease her troubles, allowing her to apply the knowledge she had gained from watching YouTube videos about flowers and weeds.

Since the school’s gardener had resigned the previous year, the garden had been neglected. The principal’s decision to assign Dera to take care of it was seen by some as a punishment for her debt, but Dera viewed it as an opportunity for fun and fulfillment.

To support and encourage Dera, Mrs. Nnaji had brought a tray of plants from home for Dera to work on. Jennifer, being there to assist Dera with the garden, realised that while the punishment assigned to Dera was to work on the school garden alone, she couldn’t simply sit back and watch her best friend tackle the task alone. Driven by their strong bond, Jennifer felt compelled to lend a helping hand to Dera in tending to the garden. As her best friend, she believed it was the right thing to do, to offer her assistance and ensure that Dera did not face the challenge alone.

Dera loved gardening; to her, it was like building a paradise on earth. It provided her with an opportunity to design and create her own space, where she had almost full control. She enjoyed the exposure to sunlight and fresh air, knowing it helped her body naturally produce Vitamin D, essential for a healthy immune system. So, this wasn’t a punishment; it was her Gardening Moment.

During break time, Dera would go to the library and study the gardening book she had borrowed from the Agric teacher, along with other books she collected from the library. She believed that reading those books would expand her knowledge of plants, flowers, and trees. However, the realisation that she was barred from entering the library saddened her.

After tending to the garden, Dera returned the gardening equipment she had collected from the janitor’s office and headed towards the classroom building. The principal hadn’t given her permission to enter the classroom yet, so she waited in the hallway.

Meanwhile, Jennifer excused herself and made her way to the restroom before returning to the classroom. Taking her seat at her desk, she became fully absorbed in reading a magazine she had borrowed from her mother’s collection at home. Lost in its pages, she patiently awaited the arrival of the French teacher, engrossed in the captivating content as time seemed to slip away.

As Dera patiently waited on a bench in the hallway, she suddenly heard her name.

‘Dera.’

‘Benjamin Okoye,’ Dera replied, recognising the voice. Benjamin was the Senior Prefect and shared the same SS3 Class A as Dera.

‘The principal said you could go to class,’ Benjamin said, pausing briefly. ‘I know that what you’re going through right now is not easy, but I assure you that it won’t last.’

‘Thank you, Benjamin.’

‘I know all about your situation at home. The students in SS3 Class A put together ten thousand naira for you. Please accept it. We understand that it may not be sufficient, considering you need around one hundred and fifty thousand naira to cover your two-term fees and WASSCE expenses, but we’ll hopefully think of something more to help you.’

‘No, I can’t take it,’ Dera replied, feeling uneasy.

‘Take it. It’s just a little something from all of us. We all want you to write this WASSCE exam with us,’ Benjamin insisted, handing her a brown paper envelope.

Dera nodded, accepting the envelope as tears welled up in her eyes. She hadn’t dreamt that her classmates would offer her money to support her. Earlier that morning, she had put her bicycle up for sale. If she managed to sell it, adding the ten thousand naira from her classmates, she might be able to pay off her fees if everything went well.

‘Dera, I know you might think there are conditions attached to this, but there aren’t. Kindness between humans is mutual. You have helped us so much, always assisting with assignments and difficult subjects without asking for anything in return. You’re well-liked in our class and deserve to be shown kindness,’ Benjamin reassured her, not wanting her to feel embarrassed about the money. ‘I have to run off now. Get yourself together and don’t let anything weigh you down. You still have two weeks, so we believe in hope.’ With those words, he patted Dera’s shoulder and left for his class.

                                                                                    ***

Dera gathered her things to go home after school. She walked down the hallway to the front entrance, intending to check on the garden before heading home. However, as she stepped outside, she spotted a familiar figure standing by the water fountain, looking at the art projects displayed by the art teacher. He was holding a newspaper. Laughing, Dera reached into her school bag and pulled out a whistle and blew it.  Then, she placed two fingers to her lips and blew a piercing whistle, capturing everyone’s attention.

Among the crowd, Andrew recognised the unique whistle—his sister had learned it from him. Looking at his adorable sister, his young face split into a huge grin. Running towards him, Andrew removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket.

‘Chidera Onuoha! Remember, you’re a top student, not a shipyard whistleblower,’ reprimanded Miss Nancy, a teacher walking outside towards the parking lot. Dera stopped in her tracks and turned to face the teacher.

‘Yes, Miss Nancy, sorry, Miss Nancy. I’m just excited to see my elder brother. It’s my first time seeing him since he got admission into Imo State University to study law,’ explained Dera.

The teacher’s stern expression softened. ‘In that case, run along, but don’t you ever disturb the school with such a dreadful noise again.’

‘Yes, Miss Nancy. Thank you so much,’ Dera replied gratefully. She resumed her run, her ponytail bouncing against her back as she joyfully made her way towards Andrew.

Happily, Dera ran into Andrew’s open arms, and he twirled her around. Andrew was overjoyed to see his adoring sister. He was dressed in a tie and suit, as he always liked to dress up for classes. Despite his clothes being from thrift stores, he carried himself with confidence and charm. His tall stature, nice smile, well-cut dark hair, and gorgeous dark eyes added to his appealing presence.

‘I didn’t know you were coming home!’ Dera exclaimed breathlessly as Andrew put her down.

‘Neither did I, until mum called me and told me what’s been going on with you,’ Andrew replied, looking at his sister from head to toe. His eyes welled up with emotion. ‘Dera, I’m sorry you’re going through this.’

‘I have always looked beautiful,’ Dera laughed, playfully poking his stomach. ‘And you’ve become even more handsome yourself,’ she added, pretending to misunderstand his comment.

‘Ouch, that’s not a good way to pretend not to understand what I meant,’ Andrew chuckled, glancing over Dera’s shoulder. ‘Hello, Jennifer.’

‘Hello, Andrew,’ Jennifer Ugo greeted with a beaming smile. She then turned to Dera and said, ‘You dropped your book...’

‘I didn’t drop it. Maybe it fell out of my bag when I was running to meet Andrew,’ Dera smiled. ‘Thank you, Jennifer.’ She took the book from Jennifer’s hand.

Andrew noticed the torn condition of Dera’s bag and reached out to take it from her. ‘I’ll carry your bag for you. Jennifer, if you’re not catching a bus or waiting for your mum, I can take yours too, if you’d like,’ he offered, and Jennifer gladly handed him her school bag.

‘Dera, I told you to wait for me. Why did you run off without me?’ Jennifer whispered, glancing at Dera.

‘I was so excited to see my brother... I’m sorry,’ Dera apologised.

Jennifer nodded, smiling.

‘Despite being foodies, both of you are still so slim,’ Andrew teased, and the girls giggled at his words.

‘Best friends should look the same,’ Jennifer joked. ‘If we turn into pigs, who will marry us in the future?’

‘Andrew will marry you,’ Dera joked, and they all laughed.

The three of them walked home, engaged in joyful conversation. As the blue sky transformed into a shade of grey, Dera remained unperturbed. Having her brother by her side was all that mattered to her.

‘It might rain soon,’ Andrew remarked after a moment. ‘We don’t have an umbrella.’

Dera took in a deep breath, and Jennifer followed suit. ‘I love the rain,’ Dera laughed. ‘And I’m not afraid to catch a cold. Andrew is here to shield me anyway.’

‘I love the rain too, but not every time,’ Jennifer added, glancing at Dera and sharing a sweet smile. When they reached the junction leading to Jennifer’s house, she turned to Dera and said, ‘See you tomorrow, Dera.’

‘Yeah, see you too,’ Dera smiled. Jennifer retrieved her bag from Andrew and bid them farewell, heading towards her home.

‘I’m so happy to see you, big brother,’ Dera said, slipping her hand possessively into Andrew’s free arm. She wanted to make the most of their short, precious moment, knowing he wouldn’t stay for long.

‘When mum told me what you’re going through, I couldn’t concentrate in class. I had to come home right away,’ Andrew explained, squeezing her arm against his side. ‘But don’t worry, I think I have a solution to your problem.’

‘Really?’ Dera looked up at him with hope in her eyes.

‘Of course, that’s why I’m here. If I didn’t know how to help, I wouldn’t have come,’ Andrew reassured her.

‘Did you rob a bank?’ Dera playfully slipped her hand into his pocket. ‘There’s no money in your pocket. So how are you going to do it? Did your boss give you a raise? Are you now the head of the cleaning department in the restaurant where you work part-time? Don’t tell me you’ve joined a group of scammers. If that’s the solution, I’d rather not be involved. I want to earn money legitimately. Wait... are you into crypto currency?’

Andrew couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m not a criminal, nor am I involved in any scams. My boss didn’t give me a raise, and I haven’t started earning anything from crypto currency, even though I hope to in the future,’ he replied, glancing at Dera. ‘I’m a law student and your handsome elder brother. I know the law, so I won’t do anything that could land me in jail.’ He affectionately patted her head.

Meanwhile, Beatrice closed the shop early as soon as Andrew told her that he had a solution to help Dera clear her debts. She was eager to know what needed to be done.

‘What is the solution, Andrew?’ Beatrice asked eagerly as they arrived home.

‘Mum...’ Andrew turned around, a smile on his face. ‘Let’s hope it works.’ He reached out and hugged his mother.

‘I feel like my enthusiasm has dropped,’ Dera frowned upon hearing Andrew’s words.

‘Andrew believes his solution will solve your problem. Let’s hope it does,’ Beatrice reassured her. She then looked at Andrew and asked, ‘How’s school?’

‘School’s fine. My lecturers all say that I’ll make a good lawyer.’

‘Goodness, imagine having a lawyer in the family! I’m the happiest person right now,’ Beatrice exclaimed, pinching Andrew’s cheek tenderly, and he laughed.

When Emeka arrived home after a futile journey, he was greeted with a scrumptious meal that made him forget the ridicule he had faced while begging for money for Dera’s WASSCE. His appetite immediately spiked at the sight of the food, and everyone gathered around the kitchen table, ready to dig in. The white kitchen tiles, worn and chipped at the corners, were always scrubbed clean by Beatrice. Despite serving as the family’s living room and dining room, the kitchen was cosy and welcoming, with warmth emanating from the gas stove.

As they sat down for dinner, everyone eagerly awaited the good news that Andrew had promised to share. Beatrice had prepared a delicious meal, filling the house with the aroma of the okra soup and garri she had cooked. The soup was rich with chunks of meat and dry fish.

‘Andrew?’ Emeka broke the silence.

‘Hm?’ Andrew replied, looking up.

‘Could you please tell us what the solution is?’ Emeka asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

‘Goodwall,’ Andrew replied, moulding his garri into a big ball with his long fingers. He dipped it into his soup and swallowed it before elaborating, ‘Goodwall is an app. All Dera needs to do is download it, create an account, and start participating in the challenges available. Do you know what the winners of the challenges will receive?’

Emeka raised an eyebrow. ‘Goodwall? What do you mean by that?’

Beatrice, intrigued, chimed in, ‘Do you want us to repaint our peeling wall?’

Dera filled a cup of water and handed it over to Andrew. ‘Goodwall represents qualities like ambition, independence, strength, reliability, determination, and professionalism,’ she remarked. ‘But I believe that may not directly relate to what Andrew is discussing, am I correct? Andrew, please enlighten us further.’

Andrew smiled profoundly and explained, ‘I just told you that Goodwall is the answer. Dera, all you need to do is actively engage in the challenges available on the Goodwall app. The winners can receive different rewards depending on the challenge they choose.’

Emeka interjected skeptically, ‘I think it’ll be a fake scholarship to a fake school.’

‘I think it’ll be a scam,’ Beatrice added.

Dera took Andrew’s side, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what Goodwall was about. ‘What a terrible guess! That’s so hurtful. Based on Andrew’s conviction, I think the company would never stoop that low.’

Beatrice looked at Dera and asked, ‘Fine... but do you have the right answer?’

Dera pondered for a moment and responded, ‘Since it’s about participating in a challenge, it must have something to do with money. I guess the final reward must be in American dollars or euros.’ She happily dipped her garri into her soup bowl and scooped up meat chunks, savouring the flavours.

Emeka chuckled, teasingly stating, ‘I thought you’d come up with a more reasonable answer. It turns out you’re the boring one.’

‘Emeka!’ Beatrice playfully scolded him, and they all laughed.

Andrew, full of affection, put a chunk of meat into Dera’s mouth and said, ‘You’re always the smartest...’

‘Whoa... so if Dera wins, she’ll get American dollars as a reward?’ Emeka asked, his skepticism waning.

‘Yes, Mum,’ Andrew nodded. ‘She might win $200, $100, $70, or any prize depending on the challenge she chooses.’

‘Andrew, I only have two weeks left, and your solution is for me to join Goodwall and participate in their challenges?’ Dera felt on the verge of tears. ‘I thought you had something better. I don’t know how to gamble.’

Andrew nodded reassuringly. ‘That’s the best option. I know you’re a genius and capable of winning at least one or two of the challenges.’ He pulled out his phone from his pocket. ‘A friend of mine from the law department introduced me to Goodwall. I immediately downloaded it and created an account for you... I’m hopeful that you will win.’ He opened the app and showed them. ‘There are challenges like #PitchChallenge, #TrashChallenge, #ProtectWildlife, #TakeMyHand, and others.’ He put down his cup of water after taking a giant sip.

‘This sounds like a legitimate scam,’ Emeka remarked, doubting the possibility of winning and getting the money. ‘So, don’t worry, I will apply for a loan.’

‘Let’s try this first,’ Andrew said, convinced in some way.

‘Okay, I believe you, big brother... Has your friend won yet?’ Dera asked.

‘Yes,’ Andrew answered. ‘He won $70 from the #TrashChallenge. Every week, winners are announced.’

‘Did you see the money?’ Beatrice asked, unsure whether to believe in Goodwall or to focus on raising money from her little shop.

‘Not yet... He’s about to claim the money.’

‘I get it...’ Dera smiled. ‘I will give it a try. There’s no harm in trying anyway.’ She handed Andrew his phone back and asked, ‘Does Goodwall have a money-making machine?’

‘I know what you’re getting at, Dera. For the #ProtectWildlife challenge, winners are sponsored by Wyss Academy. It’s part of the Green Together program. All you have to do is answer questions like why people should care about wildlife conservation and what three things we can do in our day-to-day lives to help wild animals thrive. It could be anything from recycling to picking up trash! There’s a $1,410 cash pool for 12 winners... Are you convinced?’ Andrew looked at Dera and asked.

‘A little... tell me about #TakeMyHand...’ Dera enquired.

‘Okay, let me read it for you.’ Andrew clicked on the #TakeMyHand challenge and read it out loud. ‘Have you ever helped someone without expecting anything in return…?’

‘Speaking of that, my classmates gave me ten thousand naira to add to the money I have... They promised to do more.’ Dera went to her room and returned with an envelope, handing it to her father. ‘I hope it helps...’

‘Yeah, why not? We’re sure of this one and not your Andrew’s false hope...’ Beatrice remarked.

‘Dad, I think it’s legitimate. I’m going to try,’ Dera said, looking at Andrew. ‘Big brother, I’m sorry for interrupting you. Please, continue...’

Andrew nodded and proceeded, ‘For a chance to win cash prizes, post a photo or a 1-minute video with the hashtag #TakeMyHand, telling us about your experience! Do you feel that helping others affected you or those around you?’ he elaborated. ‘The challenges will end in three days. So, Dera, if you’re going to participate, you have three days left.’

‘Any prizes for the #TakeMyHand challenge?’ Beatrice asked.

‘There’s a $1,500 cash pool for 15 winners. It’s sponsored by Friends of Bata...’ Andrew replied. ‘And for the #PitchChallenge, you can win $200 for your online security business idea by pitching it in one minute. How can it keep us safe while browsing? This time around, #PitchChallenge is here to make the internet a safe place…’

‘Let’s just focus on our food instead,’ Emeka said, trying not to raise his hopes for nothing.

***

After clearing the dishes, Andrew walked over to the fridge, grabbed an apple, and sat down on a chair. Dera stayed by the sink near the window, washing the dishes.

‘Dera...’ Andrew began, unsure of how to convince his sister to participate on the Goodwall challenges, which he had mentioned during dinner. He offered her a bite of his apple. ‘Have a bite.’

Dera took a bite and then handed the apple back to him. ‘I know you have something to say, so go ahead and shoot.’

‘Dera, I really want you to participate...’ Andrew said.

‘I didn’t say I won’t,’ Dera replied, gracefully chewing the apple.

‘Ahem... Do you know how much you could make if you succeed in winning any of them?’

‘Yes,’ Dera nodded.

‘Goodwall is the answer to what we need right now. It’s a legitimate app. Just give it a try.’

‘And if I get scammed?’

‘Then don’t believe me again.’

‘Nope... I trust you, so I will always believe you.’

Andrew gently placed the half-eaten apple on a plate. ‘Dera, I’ve done some thorough research on the app and have read people’s reviews about it. Many have expressed great benefits and positive experiences. While there may be occasional minor technical issues faced by users, the developers are actively working to rectify and update the app promptly. Dera, with all these positive reviews, there is nothing for me to fear.’

Dera looked at Andrew curiously and asked, ‘Have you tried it yourself?’

‘Not yet, but I have already downloaded the app on my phone and created an account for you. I even set up an email for you, making it easy for you to access the app,’ Andrew said with a smile, trying to reassure Dera.

‘So, you’re going to help me, right?’ Dera confirmed.

‘Of course. You’re going to use my phone.’

Dera chuckled. ‘That would be great. If I truly win, then we can use the money to solve our domestic problems.’

‘Your school fees and WASSCE registration come first...’

‘Whoa... You’re the best.’ Dera dried her hands with a towel and turned to Andrew. ‘So, who owns Goodwall? Is he handsome? Could he be described as a lead character in a romance series?’ She jokingly asked.

‘I looked up the owner of Goodwall online and discovered that the app was founded by two brothers named Omar and Taha Bawa, who hail from Geneva, Switzerland,’ Andrew replied, taking another bite of the apple. ‘Regarding their physical appearance, I haven’t personally seen them, so I can’t say for certain. However, based on a photo I came across online, they seemed to have Indian roots, as they distinctly resembled individuals from India. However, this is just my innocent assumption, and I cannot guarantee its accuracy. Google only informed me about their Swiss origins.’

‘You seem to have done your homework on Goodwall,’ Dera smiled, reaching for the apple again.

Andrew returned Dera’s smile and continued sharing the results of his further research, ‘According to my findings, the idea for Goodwall originated from ‘End Ignorance,’ a blog that Omar Bawa started in 2012 to shed light on various global crises. The brothers later expanded the blog into a social network, which launched as a website in January 2014 and eventually evolved into a mobile-first platform in 2015. Currently, Goodwall boasts an impressive membership of around two million individuals from all corners of the globe.’

‘We’ll learn more about them if I win and receive my cash. If I win, I’ll be glad to read more about Goodwall, just like I read comics,’ Dera joked, and Andrew laughed in response. ‘I’ll participate in all the challenges,’ Dera said with a smile. ‘Aside from making money, do you want to test my intelligence?’ she asked playfully.

‘No, I want to showcase your intelligence. I want the whole world to see how awesome my little sister is,’ Andrew replied.

Dera burst out laughing. ‘I’ll give you nine stars for that compliment, and the last star is reserved so you don’t get too proud.’

‘So... Are you going to give it your all to win this?’ Andrew asked.

‘With about two million members on Goodwall, each one of them might want to compete, and the ultimate winners for each challenge will get the money,’ Dera hesitated slightly.

‘Goodwall doesn’t show favouritism. If you win, you’ll definitely receive your prize. But for now, let’s set aside thoughts of failure and focus on the possibility of winning, all right?’ Andrew encouraged Dera with a reassuring smile.

***

Meanwhile, inside the Ugos family house, Jennifer emerged from the pool, feeling a bit exhausted after a long swim. Her nanny handed her a towel as she reclined on a chair, closed her eyes, and relaxed.

‘My daughter must be very tired,’ Sharon approached with a smile.

‘Mum, I want you to apologise to Dera,’ Jennifer opened her eyes. ‘If you want us to continue our relationship as mother and daughter, then you should go to Dera and apologise.’

‘I won’t go, even if you kneel. It still wouldn’t erase the fact that I was embarrassed,’ Sharon stubbornly refused.

‘Really? Please, do you even realise that you’ve become the centre of gossip?’

‘Has anyone been talking about it to you?’

‘Not only did you insult Dera’s background of poverty, but you also called her a thief.’

‘Who told you that?’ Sharon asked curiously, wanting to know the source of Jennifer’s conviction.

‘I did,’ Jennifer replied, her voice filled with conviction. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that her mother had deliberately acted in such a manner. While Sharon may have seemingly suggested that Dera find employment, Jennifer couldn’t help but sense a hidden insult directed at her friend’s financial situation. Furthermore, when Sharon mistakenly accused Dera of not providing the correct change, Jennifer couldn’t shake off the suspicion that her mother secretly desired for Dera to be labelled as a thief. These thoughts weighed heavily on Jennifer’s mind, and she really hoped that Dera wasn’t hurt by her mother’s actions. She cared deeply for her friend and wished for nothing but happiness and understanding between them.

‘Do you think you’re being clever? You know everything that happened even though you weren’t there?’ Sharon sighed, realising that Jennifer was making accurate assumptions.

‘Dera informed me about what happened, and I was able to piece it together... So, yes, I know everything that transpired in your mind. Moreover, you even shared some of it with me on that very day. You told me about how you created a childish scene in their shop. Mum, I can’t believe you did that to my best friend,’ Dera expressed her annoyance with her mother.

‘Did she tell you that I apologised?’ her mother questioned.

‘If you genuinely want to apologise, then help her clear her debts.’ Jennifer rose from the chair and tossed her towel aside.

‘What are you doing?’ Sharon was taken aback by her daughter’s demeanour.

‘Going to my bedroom.’

Sharon sighed. ‘At least you’re thinking clearly...’ she muttered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

That night, Dera prepared for her creative endeavours. She quickly took a refreshing bath, changed into her comfortable nightdress, and made her way to the family library. The room was filled with rows of tightly packed bookshelves, their aged wooden frames giving a sense of nostalgia. Dera glanced up at the shelves, observing how they seemed on the verge of collapse under the weight of the books. Yet, despite their precarious appearance, each book was kept clean and well-maintained, ensuring they remained free from dust and the ravages of termites.

Carefully selecting a few books that she hoped would provide guidance for her challenges, Dera collected them in her arms and headed to Andrew’s room. His space was adorned with blue and white stripes, while Dera’s room boasted a charming blend of pink and white. Though the colours had started to fade over time, the rooms still exuded a cosy and inviting atmosphere.

‘Maybe I could sleep in your room today?’ Dera suggested, entering Andrew’s room with a playful smile. ‘Just to make sure I don’t doze off while writing out my Goodwall ideas.’

Andrew raised an eyebrow, teasingly. ‘Dera, you often sneak into my room without my permission.’

Giggling, Dera replied, ‘That’s only when I want to watch horror movies.’

Andrew playfully pinched her cheek. ‘All right, do you have any ideas for your challenges yet?’ he asked, sitting up on his bed.

‘Not yet,’ Dera sighed. ‘I couldn’t find anything from these books I took from dad’s library.’

‘You won’t find anything in those books,’ Andrew remarked, a hint of mischief in his voice. ‘All you need to do is apply your super genius brain, not just read a library.’

Dera pouted, pretending to be offended. ‘Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m a great reader!’

‘Of course you are,’ Andrew said with a chuckle. ‘But for these challenges, you need to think outside the box. However, I can give you some initial ideas, and you can expand upon them yourself.’

Filled with excitement, Dera found herself comfortably seated on the bed, swiftly jotting down her ideas. Meanwhile, Andrew made his way to his study desk, immersing himself in his school project, diligently working on it.

As Andrew shared his thoughts and ideas after Dera finished writing out her own points, Dera listened attentively, her mind buzzing with possibilities. Once Andrew finished, Dera eagerly began expanding on those ideas, putting her own unique spin on them.

Andrew carefully went through her expanded ideas, praising her when she got it right and offering guidance when needed. They engaged in passionate discussions and friendly debates, exploring various angles and perspectives. Dera knew she wasn’t a bad writer, but she cherished the opportunity to learn from her elder brother. She saw it as an audition, a chance to improve her skills and expand her knowledge.

Dera was participating in all five challenges, and for each one, she chose a topic that resonated with her. She wanted her ideas to be authentic and meaningful. Glancing up from her work, she noticed Andrew’s collection of books and lecture notes, which piqued her curiosity. Leaving her seat, she walked over to his desk, her fingers trailing over the hardcover of the topmost book before returning to the bed.

‘Do you want to be a lawyer too?’ Andrew asked, observing Dera’s interest in his legal studies materials.

Dera laughed, shaking her head. ‘No, lawyers are liars,’ she replied playfully. ‘It’s just that... I am happy to have a brother who is studying law... I mean, a brother who is in the university.’ She paused for a moment, her voice turning more hopeful. ‘If I get the chance to sit for my WASSCE... and if by chance I register for my Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examinations, and pass…I will be there too.’

‘You’ll get there, Dera,’ Andrew said with hope in his voice.

Dera nodded, a sweet smile gracing her face. For the first time, Andrew’s kind words filled her with unwavering hope, allowing her to dream without fear of the future.

Once she finished jotting down her ideas, Dera decided to video-record them before leaving for school in the morning. Her intention was not only to share those ideas on Goodwall but also to post them for others to see, with a glimmer of hope to win.

Dera aspired to not only contribute her thoughts but also to make an impact and potentially achieve recognition through her shared ideas. With a mix of excitement and determination, she prepared herself to showcase her creativity and engage with the Goodwall community, all while nurturing her desire to emerge victorious.

***

Meanwhile, inside the living room, Emeka sat on the sofa watching the nine o’clock national news from the hunchback television. The furniture in the house was decades old, with peeling white-painted walls, yet everything looked neat. Fireflies flew outside, and the windows let in a gentle breeze, creating a peaceful atmosphere.

While drinking the tea Beatrice brought for him, Emeka suddenly remembered what Andrew had talked about during dinner. He felt that Andrew might be right about Goodwall. He hadn’t heard about Goodwall before, but he had a sense that something good might come out of it. He looked out into the night sky, feeling a bit satisfied.

‘Honey, I think our daughter should listen to her brother and participate,’ Beatrice gently said, sipping her achara tea.

Emeka glanced at his wife, smiled, and said, ‘These days, people are afraid of scams, but somehow, I feel that maybe... Goodwall is real.’

Beatrice laughed. ‘There is still a trace of doubt in your voice.’ Beatrice was too smart to point it out.

‘Don’t mind the doubt; instead, listen to the hope,’ Emeka waved his hand, laughing.

***

The following morning, Dera’s small Nokia phone rang with the six o’clock alarm. She lifted her arm out of the covers to turn it off and then checked the time. Like a robot, Dera sat up, rubbed her eyes sleepily, and got out of bed. It was Wednesday, three days since Mr. Johnson had given her an ultimatum to pay her debts or face expulsion from school. It was also the day she would film her ideas and send them to Goodwall. With the thought of Goodwall, she stretched blissfully, smiling in anticipation. After completing her morning chores, she brushed her teeth, got dressed, and walked into the kitchen to have breakfast. She ladled some jollof rice onto her plate and sat down at the kitchen table to eat.

‘Are you still participating in the Goodwall stuff?’ Beatrice asked as she entered the kitchen.

‘Yes, I have all my thoughts written down. Andrew will help me with the video recording.’

‘Do you really want to win the prize?’ Beatrice stared at Dera.

‘That’s exactly what I want. I want to be among the winners.’

‘Then, we’re going to place all our hopes on you. You’ll unleash your super brain and become one of the winners in all the challenges,’ Beatrice purposely teased Dera.

‘Yes, Dera, we all believe in you.’ Emeka entered the kitchen, took an avocado from the fridge, and started cutting it in half. ‘You’re the best, go for it.’ He reached for the loaf of bread on the table and took a slice.

‘Are you two trying to tease me to death?’ asked Dera with a sweet smile.

Beatrice smiled warmly and gently hugged Dera’s shoulder. ‘Okay, we won’t tease you anymore. But even though I have some doubts about the prizes and everything, I still believe that we should give it a try,’ she said, looking at Dera. ‘Good luck.’ Beatrice held up her fist in support of Dera and then grabbed some fruits before leaving the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Emeka scooped out one half of his avocado, spread it on the bread, folded it in half, and took a big bite.

After Dera finished her breakfast, Andrew took out his phone and filmed her as she confidently presented her ideas. Each of the challenges was filmed differently. Once they were done, they watched the recordings, satisfied with the results. Andrew then sent them through the Goodwall account he had created for Dera using his phone.

As they left the backyard where they had recorded the videos, Dera asked Andrew, ‘Andrew, will you return to school today?’

‘I will wait until the winners are announced,’ Andrew replied.

‘What about your work?’

‘My boss already gave me his permission,’ Andrew smiled.

Dera sighed and said, ‘Let’s hope I don’t disappoint you.’

‘Silly girl, it’s just a challenge. Even if you lose, you’ll always be my adoring little sister,’ Andrew comforted her.

Dera turned around to look at him and spoke slowly, ‘I don’t want to settle for a consolation prize. I truly want to win this, even if it’s just one challenge.’

Her words triggered a wave of emotion, and Dera poured herself into Andrew’s arms, seeking comfort like a child who had been wronged. Andrew knew that his sister needed the money more than anyone else, so seeing her like this tugged at his heartstrings. He held her gently, patting her shoulder. ‘Like I once told you before, you’ll always win in the game of life and in the game of love.’

‘Who’s talking about love?’ Dera raised her head and playfully pinched Andrew’s cheek.

‘You really know how to showcase your silly ways,’ Andrew chuckled.

‘Of course, you’re only allowed to see this part of me,’ Dera playfully rolled her eyes.

It was seven-thirty in the morning when Dera stepped out of the house. Normally, she would ride her bicycle to school, but yesterday she had to walk due to the decision of selling her bicycle. However, today was different. Andrew, her brother, had given her some money to take the bus instead. Grateful for her brother’s support, Dera felt a sense of happiness and appreciation.

As the bus carried her towards school, Dera gazed out of the window, admiring the beautiful buildings she passed along the way. She had always cherished the town she called home. Dera, along with her parents and brother, resided in Mbaitoli, Imo State—a place she considered perfect due to its proximity to the capital city, Owerri. It only took a short fifteen to thirty-minute bus or taxi ride to reach Owerri. While Dera treasured her current abode, she also nurtured dreams of living near the shores of Nigeria or even exploring another country, if only for a few days. The idea of new experiences and different horizons filled her with a sense of longing and excitement.

The ride to Peach Secondary School took about five to ten minutes, depending on traffic. Dera didn’t mind as she enjoyed the beautiful scenery from the bus window. When she arrived in front of the school gates, she walked inside and headed straight to the garden. Putting on her work gloves, she picked up the watering can and began watering the plants.

‘You seem excited to be taking care of the garden,’ Jennifer remarked as she approached Dera.

‘Yeah, I love planting things, and it makes me happy to see them flourish,’ Dera replied with a blissful smile. ‘Everyone should have reasons to love gardening,’ she added after a moment.

Jennifer shrugged and said, ‘Well, I love gardening because scientific evidence has shown that it’s beneficial to us. For instance, it offers therapeutic and natural experiences that can help with anxiety and depression. It’s a rewarding and refreshing activity.’

‘That’s a good point. Sometimes, we can learn from plants and flowers too,’ Dera said.

‘What is there to learn from things we take care of?’ Jennifer asked.

‘For example, most plants and flowers don’t grow overnight,’ Dera explained.

‘I get it. Gardening teaches patience,’ Jennifer acknowledged.

Dera nodded with a sweet smile. ‘I love gardening for many reasons.’ She looked up at the sky and smiled.

As Jennifer observed the happiness on Dera’s face, she considered asking about Dera’s father’s progress in registering her. However, she decided against it, not wanting to spoil the joyous moment with a potentially insensitive question. Instead, she tossed her backpack aside and joined Dera in tending to the plants.

***

As Beatrice ironed Emeka’s clothes, she noticed that Dera, while doing the laundry after returning from school, appeared lost in her thoughts about the yet-to-be-announced winners. Concerned for her daughter, Beatrice couldn’t help but express her concern.

‘Dera, try not to dwell on it too much, or you might end up falling sick,’ Beatrice advised, hoping to ease her daughter’s mind.

‘Mum, please. Let’s not speak negatively,’ Dera requested, as she carefully hung her school uniform on the clothesline, allowing it to dry in the gentle breeze.

‘I’m not trying to jinx it. I just don’t want you to constantly worry. It might give you a headache,’ Beatrice explained. She set the iron down and straightened the shirt on the ironing table. ‘I once dreamed of becoming a doctor, but I ended up as a small shop owner. When I married your father, he wanted to send me back to school to fulfill my dream, but then I got pregnant with your brother. I had to give up on my dream and dedicated it to both of you. That’s why you shouldn’t worry too much and believe that even if you don’t win any of the challenges; your parents will find a way.’ Beatrice looked at Dera and continued, ‘So, try not to overthink it. You might make yourself sick. But you can also imagine the things you’d do with the money if you win. It’s all right to be hopeful, just don’t let worry consume you.’

Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes, and she had to blink hard to hold them back. ‘It’s never too late to fulfill your dreams, Mum.’

‘I’ve already given them all to you and your brother,’ Beatrice smiled. ‘Make me proud, and I will be satisfied. But don’t put too much pressure on yourself.’

Dera turned to her father, who was sitting in the shade of a tree. ‘Dad, why didn’t you insist on mum pursuing her dream of becoming a doctor?’

‘Honey, it wasn’t you who made me give it up. Please, tell our daughter the truth,’ Beatrice asserted firmly, her voice filled with conviction. She wanted Dera to truly understand that Emeka was not responsible for her decision to let go of her dream of becoming a doctor after their marriage. It was a choice she had made independently, driven by her strong desire to prioritise the well-being and care of their family.

Emeka smiled, lowering the newspaper he had been reading. ‘I’m sorry, Dera. Your mother sacrificed her dreams for you and your brother. You can repay us by not giving up on your own dreams, okay?’

‘I will do that,’ Dera assured them.

‘I am proud of you,’ Beatrice said, smoothing the iron over Emeka’s shirt. ‘Now, go and help your brother in the shop, or you can go to your room and study. If you stay idle, you might end up overthinking. I don’t want you to get sick.’

Dera nodded and walked away from the backyard. She grabbed her jacket and headed to the shop to assist Andrew.

***

The following day passed quickly for Dera. She wished for the day to end soon so that the winners would be announced. As the day progressed, the anticipation grew.

‘Winners might be announced today,’ Andrew mentioned to Dera as she prepared to go to school. ‘The jury is deciding. I’m sure they’ll make a fair verdict.’ Andrew’s frequent use of legal terminology reflected his aspiration to become a lawyer, presiding over cases in a courtroom or even serving as a member of the jury, imparting authoritative verdicts. With a joyful expression, he added, ‘Someday, I hope to have the opportunity to render my own verdict.’

Dera grinned at Andrews words, then replied, ‘I was hoping the winners would be announced this morning, but I guess it will happen later in the day.’

‘I hope you’ll win at least a hundred dollars,’ Andrew expressed his confidence.

‘Do you have that much faith in me?’ Dera laughed.

‘Of course, you’re my adorable sister, so you must be a genius,’ Andrew said, reaching out to touch Dera’s face. ‘Don’t think too much about it. Take the bus and come home after school.’ He handed her some cash and walked towards his room.

When Dera arrived at school that day, she didn’t feel like sitting in the classroom as her mind was preoccupied.

Jennifer observed Dera standing against the wall, looking expectant. Concerned, she approached her and asked, ‘Dera... what’s wrong?’ She could sense that something was troubling her friend, and she wanted to offer her support.

Dera glanced at Jennifer and forced a smile. ‘Nothing, I just felt like getting some fresh air,’ she replied, trying to dismiss her worries.

The truth was, she was anxiously awaiting a call from her brother, hoping he would inform her about the winners of the challenges on Goodwall. Her future depended on it. She wanted to tell Jennifer about Goodwall, but she hesitated, fearing that if it turned out to be a scam, her friend would be hurt. So she decided to keep quiet until she confirmed its authenticity. After all, considering the prevalence of fraud in the world, it took courage to believe that Goodwall was real.

‘My dressing table becomes a battlefield whenever my sister returns from boarding school. She always complains that our mum never buys her makeup, so she wants to use mine. Whenever she goes out to a friend’s party, she piles on heavy black eyeliner,’ Jennifer shared, and Dera laughed. ‘With her long hair, she leaves hairbrushes filled with hair all over the place, and I end up cleaning up after her. But despite all that, our fights never last longer than a few minutes.’

‘If you miss your little sister, why not visit her school? I’m sure she would be happy to see you,’ Dera suggested.

‘I don’t miss my sister because I talk to her all the time,’ Jennifer paused. ‘But I miss you because you’re here, yet I don’t know what’s bothering you.’

Dera smiled. ‘I’m fine.’

Jennifer let out a soft sigh. ‘I asked my mum to help you with your registration. Just have a little faith. She’ll do it for you.’ Jennifer wanted to believe that her mother would assist Dera, but she had doubts about her mother’s willingness to do so.

Dera smiled and remained silent. She was grateful to Jennifer, even though she didn’t want her mother to register her. She had to place her hope on Goodwall.

‘Let’s go back inside,’ Dera suggested after a while, and they returned to the classroom.

Now in the class, Dera walked towards her seat and sat down. Then, she pulled out her diary from her school bag and began to write her thoughts down. She had been so involved in writing that she hadn’t noticed anyone approaching her desk. Before she realised it, her diary was already snatched away.

‘What are you writing, a letter to your sweetheart?’ the golden-haired boy chuckled, waving the book.

‘Abraham, I can see that you want me to notice your golden-dyed hair. It’s fine. Now, please give my diary back,’ Dera said calmly.

‘Wait a minute. Let me see what you’re so busy writing.’ He read it aloud. ‘Dear Goodwall…’ Who’s Goodwall, your new crush?’ he asked with a playful smile, raising one eyebrow.

The class burst out laughing.

‘Yes, my new crush,’ Dera stood up and reached for the diary, her face showing no hint of embarrassment even as the students in the classroom laughed. ‘Give it back.’

The boy pursed his lips. ‘If Goodwall is your crush, why haven’t you told anyone before? Are you in a secret relationship or something?’

‘I just told you that Goodwall is my new crush, didn’t I?’ Dera replied, rolling her eyes.

‘Does that mean you had an old crush? Come on, spill the beans. Who’s the lucky guy? Is it me? No way! Don’t tell me you dumped me. I can’t handle that. Did you really dump me?’ Abraham asked, feigning shock and looking amusing.

‘Well, I just did,’ Dera rolled her eyes. ‘Now, can you please give it back?’

‘Aww, you’ve wounded my heart,’ Abraham faked a cry, and the students burst into laughter, except for Jennifer, who walked over and snatched the diary away from him.

‘Abraham, can you please leave Dera alone?’ Jennifer intervened, handing the diary back to Dera.

‘Jennifer, how could you betray your desk partner like this?’ Abraham joked.

‘Well, Dera became my best friend before you became my desk partner. It’s obvious who I’ll support, right?’ Jennifer replied.

Abraham nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right... but then, I won’t give you any doughnut today.’

‘I don’t care,’ Jennifer said nonchalantly.

‘You don’t really care?’ Abraham tilted his head and purposely asked, fully aware of Jennifer’s love for doughnut.

‘I do care... no, I don’t care,’ Jennifer playfully replied.

Dera couldn’t help but laugh. She knew how much Jennifer loved doughnuts—after all, they were her favourite snack. ‘Jennifer, I’ll buy you a box of delicious doughnuts anytime you want,’ she assured her.

‘I believe you,’ Jennifer smiled, looking at Dera hopefully.

***

Dera and Jennifer headed to the cafeteria for lunch, and Jennifer bought some bread and milk for both of them. As they sat down to eat, Jennifer suddenly remembered Dera’s crush on Goodwall.

‘You never told me you already have a crush. Are you afraid I might snatch him away from you?’ Jennifer teased, taking a bite of her bread.

‘What?’ Dera almost spat out her milk in surprise.

‘So, Dera, anything you want to share about your new crush?’ Jennifer continued teasing, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

‘Not yet...’ Dera replied.

‘Not yet? Why can’t you tell me?’ Jennifer asked, genuinely curious.

‘You’re free to have a crush on Goodwall,’ Dera said, nudging Jennifer gently. ‘I’ll talk about it when I’m certain and ready.’

Jennifer couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Sure, Dera, that’d be great.’

Back in the classroom, Jennifer was working on some challenging advanced math problems. When she came across a problem she didn’t understand, Jennifer poked Dera’s arm.

‘Bestie, can you take a look at this? Should I solve it this way or is there a better method?’

Upon seeing the math problem, Dera smiled and said, ‘Yes, you’re on the right track.’

‘Is there another approach?’ Jennifer enquired.

‘Yes, you could solve it using an algorithm,’ Dera suggested.

‘Isn’t that a more complex method?’ Jennifer waved her hand dismissively. ‘I’m fine with this approach. I don’t want to complicate things in my head. I hate being greedy.’

Dera chuckled. ‘You’re approaching the math problem in the simplest way, but there are other methods to solve it. If you want, I can explain them to you.’

‘Forget it,’ Jennifer laughed and continued with her work.

‘Jennifer,’ Abraham greeted, giving Jennifer a friendly fist bump as he made his way to the back of the classroom.

Jennifer turned to him, feeling a surge of irritation but paused when she noticed Abraham holding two doughnuts.

‘You sure you don’t want this?’ Abraham offered, holding up one of the doughnuts.

Jennifer nodded, her annoyance fading as she smiled gratefully. ‘Actually, I’d love to have one.’ She stood up from her seat and walked over to Abraham.

‘I thought you didn’t want it?’ he teased, playfully tossing the doughnut at Jennifer.

Jennifer chuckled and caught the doughnut, taking a big bite. ‘Thanks,’ she said with a mouthful of food. She turned and headed back to her seat.

***

Dera hurried home through a drizzle of rain after school, deciding not to wait for the bus as she felt it would be a waste of time.

‘Dera, why don’t you wait for the bus? You might catch a cold,’ Jennifer shouted from behind.

‘Thanks for your concern, but I don’t have time to wait. I’ll have hot tea when I get home. You go ahead and wait for the bus, okay?’ Dera replied without stopping, continuing to run home.

Before Dera reached home, the rain stopped and the sun started to shine. Beatrice, Dera’s mother, was planting some flowers in the empty beds along the front of the house. For the past three years, Beatrice had neglected her garden due to her husband losing his job, but today she had brought flowers from the meadow nearby and was determined to bring life back to the garden.

When Beatrice saw Dera, she paused her work and greeted her with a warm smile before answering her ringing phone.

‘Has Goodwall announced the winners yet?’ Beatrice asked.

‘Not yet,’ Andrew replied. ‘Is Dera back home?’

‘She just returned.’

‘Okay... tell her not to worry too much. The winners might be announced later in the evening or maybe tomorrow. I just finished submitting my project. I’ll take the next bus home.’

Beatrice smiled. ‘All right, take care. Bye.’

After ending the call, Beatrice turned to Dera, who had been listening to their conversation. She had put the call on speaker so Dera could hear.

‘Have some bread. I’ll cook dinner later,’ Beatrice said before returning to her flower bed to finish planting.

Beatrice wanted to encourage Dera not to give up, but she felt she had already done enough motivational speaking. Right now, she wanted to put even a small fraction of hope in Goodwall. If Dera managed to win one of the challenges, the prize money would greatly help with her WASSCE registration.

A tear rolled down Beatrice’s cheek as she planted the last daisy, feeling that these flowers symbolised a new beginning for her family.

After finishing her work, she washed her hands and face in the kitchen before noticing Dera reading in the living room. Dera’s books were spread out on the centre table, and she was immersed in her studies, hoping to be registered for the exams. Beatrice couldn’t help but smile at the sight before preparing to cook dinner.

***

Customers expressed interest in purchasing Dera’s bicycle at a low price, emphasising its pre-owned status as a motivating factor. Emeka felt the temptation to sell it, regardless of the meager offers. However, he remained conflicted about whether or not to proceed with the sale. The bicycle held sentimental value as it had been a gift from Andrew to Dera, and Emeka knew the immense effort his son had put into saving money to buy it for his sister. Though the family faced financial difficulties, Emeka couldn’t shake the feeling that Andrew would be somewhat saddened by the decision to part with the bicycle. In that moment, he longed for a pawnshop, but unfortunately, such establishments were absent in Imo State.

Just as Emeka wrestled with his thoughts, a young girl in her late teens entered the shop, twirling her long black hair around her fingers while surveying her surroundings.

‘I heard about this bicycle and came to see if I could purchase it,’ the girl said, approaching the bicycle.  She was wearing a button-down denim shirtdress and flat leather sandals. ‘I assumed your family must be in dire need of money to consider selling Dera’s bicycle. Poor people are always so prideful, aren’t they? They talk about dignity, but what good is dignity without money, huh?’ She turned to Emeka and scoffed. ‘Dera is a beautiful girl. If you can’t afford her school fees anymore, just marry her off. Anyway, how much are you asking for the bicycle? Since you won’t accept money for free, I’ll buy it and donate it to underprivileged children.’ Her tone dripped with arrogance as she shifted her gaze towards the bicycle.

‘This is not a bicycle shop, young lady,’ Emeka replied, making an effort to maintain his composure despite the girl’s insolence.

‘I’m well aware of that, Sir Emeka. Would 5,000 naira be sufficient? Considering we reside in the same neighbourhood, I hope you can provide it at a discounted price. After all, it is a second-hand bicycle,’ she retorted, firmly expressing her viewpoint.

Emeka took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. ‘Rebecca, the bicycle is no longer available for sale. If you’re looking to purchase a bicycle, I suggest visiting a proper bicycle shop.’

‘Please inform Dera that I attempted to assist, but her father declined my kindness,’ she sneered before storming out of the shop.

Emeka chose to disregard her comments and shifted his attention to two young boys who had just entered the shop, ready to assist them with their needs.

***

In the small but cosy kitchen of the Onuohas, Dera entered with a book and settled on a low stool while Beatrice drained the rice at the sink. She then checked on the cooking meat and proceeded to blend tomatoes in the mortar. The delicious aroma of rice and stew filled the air, as Beatrice prepared dinner.

‘How’s your school garden?’ Beatrice enquired, glancing at her daughter as she pulled down the cooking meat and returned the rice to the stove.

‘It’s going well,’ Dera replied, stealing a quick look at her mother. ‘The principal mentioned three days ago that our school will sponsor some students for a mathematics competition. The top students from each class will be selected to participate. After the final screening, the three best students will represent the school in the upcoming competition in Lagos State.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Beatrice exclaimed, her face lighting up with pride. ‘Were you chosen to participate?’

‘It hasn’t started yet. I’m hoping I’ll be selected,’ Dera replied, her voice tinged with a hint of anticipation.

‘I believe in you, my dear. Just keep doing your best,’ Beatrice encouraged, a smile spreading across her face. ‘But remember, your WASSCE exams are also approaching, so make sure to balance your time wisely.’

Dera nodded, understanding the importance of focusing on her studies as well. She knew she had to give her all to both the competition and her exams.

As they chatted, Andrew walked in, dressed in a black blazer, and joined them in the kitchen.

‘Goodwall just sent me some notifications,’ Andrew announced, holding up his phone. ‘I think they might be about the winners for the challenges.’

Dera’s eyes widened with excitement, and Beatrice’s curiosity grew as they eagerly waited for Andrew to open the notifications.

‘Go ahead, open them!’ Dera urged, unable to contain her anticipation.

‘Let me open it,’ Andrew said, clicking on the Goodwall app. Beatrice quickly checked on the rice simmering on the gas stove before returning to join Andrew and Dera, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.

‘Did she win?’ Emeka asked gently upon his return from the shop. As soon as Andrew informed him about the notifications, he closed up the shop and rushed home.

Andrew tapped on the first notification, and the four of them huddled closer, their attention focused on the screen, eager to discover the news that awaited them.

As the first notification loaded, Dera’s heart started racing with anticipation. She prayed that she would win, even just one challenge.

Andrew glanced at the three of them and then turned to Dera, asking, ‘Are you ready to see the winners?’

‘Yes,’ all three of them responded in unison.

‘Apart from the #TakeMyHand challenge, Dera won in the other challenges,’ Andrew happily announced

Overwhelmed with excitement, Dera hugged her mother and father, exclaiming, ‘I won!’

‘Hey, I can see that. I’m not blind, okay?’ Emeka’s face beamed with a smile.

Andrew looked at Dera. ‘What about my hug?’

Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes as she tightly embraced her brother. ‘Thank you, Andrew,’ she whispered.

‘Hey, you haven’t received the money yet,’ Andrew teased, pinching her cheek. ‘Jeff Barcelona sent you messages about your winnings and how to claim them.’

‘Who’s Jeff Barcelona?’ Dera asked curiously.

‘He’s one of Goodwall’s Community Managers. If you have any questions about Goodwall, Jeff Barcelona is the person you should reach out to. He will provide you with the right answers and guidance,’ Andrew explained, opening the inbox and proceeding to read the messages aloud.

‘Can I record the thank-you videos now?’ Dera didn’t want to waste any time.

‘Are you ready?’ Andrew asked.

Dera nodded eagerly. ‘I’m ready. I’ve already read through the instructions.’ She took a deep breath.

Andrew recorded Dera’s thank-you videos and posted them on Goodwall. Then, they gathered around the kitchen table for dinner, with everyone happily savouring their meal. It was a moment of joy, but the true sense of fulfillment would come when Dera received the American dollars from the bank, enabling her to pay her school fees and register for her WASSCE exam.

***

Inside the Ugos’ compound, Jennifer sat on the balcony, engrossed in reading some books while sipping a glass of milk.

‘You must be tired. You should go to bed early,’ Sharon said, slowly approaching in a white bathrobe.

‘Mum, you should go to sleep first. Your presence makes me feel a bit suffocated. I need some fresh air. Dad travelled to Abuja for a business conference. You should have gone with him. After all, you’ve always loved being in the spotlight,’ Jennifer remarked.

‘Are you still angry with me for not doing anything for Dera?’ Sharon sat down and reached for Jennifer’s glass of milk. She took a small sip and placed the glass on the small table.

‘Yes,’ Jennifer replied, her tone filled with frustration.

‘My little daughter is truly generous... She doesn’t even have her own money, yet she wants me to spend mine on someone else,’ Sharon sighed.

‘I still want you to help Dera. She’s my best friend,’ Jennifer insisted.

‘If your best friend needs my help, she should come to me and ask for it,’ Sharon responded, taking another big sip.

Jennifer could sense that her mother had no intention of helping Dera. She prayed that Dera would receive help from another source.

 ***

That night, just as Dera was about to head to her bedroom after dinner, Andrew tugged on her hand and led her outside.

‘Andrew, where are we going?’ Dera asked, curious.

‘Come with me to the shop. We need to retrieve your bicycle,’ Andrew replied.

‘Really?’ Dera’s eyes lit up with excitement upon hearing Andrew’s words. ‘Right now?’ she asked, her grip tightening around Andrew’s hand.

‘I wasn’t thrilled when you mentioned selling the gift I gave you. It was a tough decision for you to make. But I’m relieved it hasn’t been sold yet. Now you can ride it to school,’ Andrew said, his voice filled with sincerity.

Dera let out a joyful giggle as she clung to Andrew’s hand, eagerly leading the way out of the house.

When Beatrice, who was in the living room sewing a torn curtain, noticed them standing at the front door, she curiously enquired, ‘Where are you guys going?’

‘To retrieve my bicycle!’ Dera exclaimed, her excitement evident.

Beatrice smiled warmly. ‘Can’t that wait until morning?’ She glanced at Andrew and Dera, a hint of concern in her eyes.

Dera’s gaze shifted to the worn beige sofa on which her mother sat. She had been hoping to replace the frayed and tattered cushions that adorned the three sorry-looking sofas in the living room. Despite the worn-out appearance, the rickety centre table proudly displayed a flower vase containing freshly picked flowers. Each morning, before heading to school, Dera took special care to tend to the flowers, nurturing them with love and attention.

‘We really want to go now,’ Andrew insisted.

‘Off you go then,’ Beatrice acquiesced, waving them off with a gentle gesture.

Dera and Andrew embarked on their journey. The darkness of the night had already settled over Mbaitoli, unlike the well-lit streets of the capital city, Owerri. However, the neighbouring houses illuminated the surroundings, offering a comforting glow.

Finally, the duo reached their shop. Andrew unlocked the broken door and they stepped inside. He switched on the lights, revealing the contents of the shop, and made his way to the bicycle. Together, they carried it home.

Back at their residence, Dera parked her bicycle in its usual spot behind the kitchen door. As she turned to head towards her bedroom, Andrew leaned in and planted a tender kiss on her cheek. She was his adorable little sister. ‘Good night, kid sis,’ he whispered affectionately, his heart brimming with excitement. It was the excitement of an elder brother who loved his little sister deeply, second only to their parents. Dera was irreplaceable. Andrew knew that only a resilient girl like Dera could endure hardships and remain strong. Most of the girls he knew would have given up along the way, but Dera, even without openly expressing her hope, exuded an unbeatable spirit.

Just as Andrew was about to head to his bedroom, Dera surprised him by hugging him from behind. ‘Thank you for everything,’ she whispered gratefully.

‘Don’t mention it,’ Andrew replied warmly.

‘Thanks, big brother.’

‘I did what I should do. You’re my adorable little sister, and it’s my responsibility to take care of you,’ he affirmed.

Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes as she gently tiptoed and kissed Andrew’s forehead. ‘Good night.’

The following morning, Dera picked up her school bag from the centre table in the living room and bid farewell to Andrew, who was engrossed in a book. Just as she was about to leave, she turned back and skipped towards Andrew. With her school bag in hand, she hugged him happily and kissed his forehead. ‘Don’t forget to miss me.’

Andrew laughed affectionately. ‘I won’t.’ He returned the forehead kiss and urged her to head to school to avoid being late.

‘Bye!’ Dera waved cheerfully at her brother, skipping away while humming a tune.

Andrew smiled, his gaze returning to his book.

***

Dera’s heart overflowed with joy as she received her dollars from the bank. A total of 490 dollars, a sum she had never imagined possessing. Overwhelmed by the moment, she gathered her family for a photo to forever remember this milestone. The touch of the dollars in her hands felt surreal, like a dream come true.

Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes, realising the magnitude of her accomplishment. She walked up to her brother and embraced him tightly. ‘You truly are the best brother in the whole world!’

‘I did what any best brother would do,’ Andrew replied, beaming down at her. Seeing Dera succeed was all he had hoped for. ‘You should thank Goodwall more,’ he added, lifting her head gently. ‘Don’t cry.’

‘They’re tears of joy,’ Dera assured him.

‘Yeah, I know. Women tend to cry at every little thing,’ Andrew playfully remarked.

Dera playfully poked his nose, and laughter filled the air as they shared a special moment. Beatrice and Emeka watched their children, their hearts swelling with pride and happiness.

‘Goodwall is not fake,’ Emeka whispered, and Beatrice nodded in agreement.

‘Why not open an account with Goodwall?’ Dera suggested to Andrew.

‘To do that, I’ll buy you a phone that would ‘Goodwall’ you,’ Andrew joked, earning another laugh from Dera.

Later in the afternoon, Dera retreated to her room for a quick nap. Absent from school that day, she had ventured to the bank to collect her hard-earned American dollars, which she had triumphantly won on Goodwall. As she prepared to crawl into her small bed, a faint sound of laughter reached her ears, piquing her curiosity. Intrigued, she approached the window.

Peeking out of her window, she spotted Rebecca strolling along the street, donning a trendy ensemble. Rebecca wore a pair of stylish cutoff shorts paired with a white cropped t-shirt. Completing her look was a baseball cap that added a sporty touch. Walking beside her was her handsome boyfriend, dressed in a crisp white shirt, black skinny jeans, and sleek white sneakers. Their hands intertwined, they made their way towards the restaurant located just a block away.

‘I see why you had the audacity to insult my father the other day,’ Dera muttered to herself. ‘Anyway, I’m just glad my bicycle wasn’t sold to you.’ Shrugging off the thought, she returned to her bed.

Upon waking from her nap, Dera sat at her study desk and diligently tackled the practice questions she had borrowed from the nearby bookshop. Since she was no longer allowed access to the school library, she was determined to find exam practice workbooks to continue her studies.

With her trusty HB pencil in hand, she confidently wrote down her answers. The questions seemed familiar, as she had encountered them countless times before. Having gone through most of the practice questions, Dera felt a sense of assurance as she solved them without relying on teachers for assistance.

***

The following day, Emeka happily exchanged the dollars for naira. He visited Peach Secondary School to clear Dera’s debts and also purchased a new set of school uniform for her. A burden seemed to lift off his shoulders, and he couldn’t contain his happiness. The thought of his daughter sitting for the major exams in a new uniform filled him with immense pride and joy, erasing the pain he had felt every time he saw her in the old, torn uniform.

Just five minutes after Emeka left the school, the secretary called for Dera to come to her office. Dera quickly made her way from the gym class to the secretary’s office, knocking on the door before entering.

‘Come in,’ the secretary replied, sitting at her desk with a cup of coffee. The office had an elegant ambiance, with a large table, a swivel leather chair, a computer, and neatly arranged files and stationery. Dera glanced at the cabinet filled with reference books and files before meeting the secretary’s gaze.

‘Benjamin said you wanted to see me,’ Dera said from the doorway.

‘Yes, I did. Why are you still standing there? I’m not going to harm you,’ the secretary reassured, motioning for Dera to come closer.

Dera approached, admiring the young and beautiful secretary in her blue suit and captivating eyes. She appeared both graceful and youthful.

‘Your father was here just a few minutes ago,’ the secretary informed, placing her coffee cup on the table. ‘He took care of your registration for the two final exams and even paid for a brand-new school uniform.’ Her eyes scanned Dera from head to toe. Initially, she had doubted whether Dera would be able to take part in the WASSCE exam, but now, not only was she registered, she also had a new uniform. The secretary playfully teased, ‘All the uniforms might be a bit too big for you. Are you good with a needle?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Dera smiled. ‘I can darn socks, and sew on buttons. I even made a blouse in needlework last year. Poverty has taught me to be hard working,’ Dera shared, causing the secretary to burst into laughter.

‘Very well, follow me,’ the secretary said, standing up and walking towards the right side of the office. Dera followed closely behind. The secretary opened the door to the storeroom, turned on the light, and stepped inside. Dera patiently waited outside the door.

‘I told you to follow me,’ the secretary reminded, noticing Dera’s hesitation. She searched through the neatly arranged piles of school uniforms. Different uniforms for various school activities were carefully arranged in the dressers in the room.

Dera entered the storeroom and observed the secretary meticulously examining the main uniform, searching for the appropriate size.

‘Do you like these?’ the secretary asked, holding up a skirt, blazer, and shirt.

Dera nodded, saying, ‘I guess so.’

‘Go to the fitting room and try them on. If they fit well, I’ll have our designing department sew a name tag on the blazer. Your school sandals will also be ready by the end of the day. Come back after school to pick them up,’ the secretary explained.

Dera nodded joyfully. ‘What about the socks?’ she enquired as they stepped out of the room.

The uniform fit Dera quite nicely, and she couldn’t contain her excitement for the next day when she would finally have the chance to wear them. The anticipation of adorning her new uniform filled her with a longing for the arrival of the new day, wishing for it to come swiftly.

‘They will be included with the sandals. Tomorrow, you’ll look absolutely flawless,’ the secretary assured her. ‘Your father not only registered you for both final exams but also purchased a new uniform for you. You must be thrilled about that, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Dera smiled warmly.

‘I’ll forward your name to your form teacher,’ the secretary returned the smile. ‘Now, it’s time to return to your class,’ she calmly instructed Dera.

Dera nodded and turned to leave the office. However, before heading to the gym class, she decided to share her good news with Mrs. Nnaji. She ran to her office without hesitation.

As Dera entered the office, she couldn’t contain her excitement any longer. She blurted out, ‘I have finally registered for both my WASSCE and NECO! The school secretary informed me and she’ll be forwarding my name to you.’

Mrs. Nnaji looked up from her book, her face lighting up with genuine joy. ‘Oh, Dera, that’s wonderful news! You should be incredibly proud of yourself.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Dera replied, her voice filled with gratitude.

Mrs. Nnaji continued, her eyes gleaming with warmth, ‘Dera, you’re not just a brilliant student, but also a kind-hearted person. I have no doubt that you will excel in the university and have a successful career. May you cross paths with many good people who will support and inspire you.’

Dera was deeply moved by Mrs. Nnaji’s words. Overwhelmed by a surge of emotions, she hurriedly walked over and embraced Mrs. Nnaji in a tight hug. Mrs. Nnaji had always been there for her, offering guidance, encouragement, and genuine care.

After a moment, Dera pulled back, her eyes shining with gratitude. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Nnaji. Your support means the world to me.’

Mrs. Nnaji smiled warmly and gently patted Dera’s shoulder. ‘You deserve every success, Dera. Remember, I’m always here for you.’

With a renewed sense of purpose and a heart full of appreciation, Dera left Mrs. Nnaji’s office, ready to embark on the next chapter of her educational journey.

***

The next day, Dera woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. She put on her backpack and walked out of her bedroom, heading towards the bicycle that now awaited her outside.

It had been almost a week since she last rode her bicycle, and as she mounted it, Dera felt a surge of exhilaration, as if she were soaring in a private jet. The combination of wearing her new uniform and being able to ride her bicycle, which she had almost sold, filled her with joy. Previously, the principal had forbidden her from visiting the library or borrowing books, but now she could freely indulge in her love for reading. She also relished the opportunity to proudly park her bicycle at the school’s bicycle rack, a privilege that had been denied to her before. Even the punishment of gardening alone in the school garden had been lifted, though she genuinely enjoyed tending to the plants. The weight of her debts lifted, leaving behind an airy feeling of freedom that brought a sweet smile to Dera’s face.

As Dera approached the massive gates of Peach Secondary School, she noticed the curious gazes of her fellow students. They watched her with keen interest, clearly taken aback by her transformed appearance.

‘Good morning!’ Dera greeted them excitedly, waving with enthusiasm.

‘Good morning,’ a boy responded, his face filled with astonishment. ‘What a surprise! I had no idea you would look so smart today.’

‘I heard you sold your bicycle,’ another student chimed in.

Dera smiled warmly at them, sensing their curiosity. ‘Change is inevitable,’ she replied, her gratitude for Goodwall shining through her words. ‘And I owe it all to Goodwall.’

Parking her bicycle proudly at the school’s rack, Dera swiftly changed into her farm outfit and made her way to the garden. Her first task was potting some cuttings, which she tackled with enthusiasm. The rain started to fall, but Dera remained undeterred, determined to finish her planting before anything else. She continued working, her hands in the soil, even as the raindrops lightly splattered around her.

Suddenly, the rain stopped, and Dera looked up at the clearing sky, a sweet smile gracing her lips. With renewed energy, she resumed her gardening, tending to the flowers and bringing life to the school garden.

As she worked, Dera’s thoughts drifted to the challenges she had overcome and the support she had received from Goodwall. She felt immense gratitude for the newfound opportunities and the debt-free existence she now enjoyed. With each flower she planted, she embraced the future with hope and determination, knowing that her journey was just beginning.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her concentration, causing her to look up from her work. A female student hurried down to the garden, reciting a poem as she made her way towards Dera.

‘Oh, Dera, Jennifer’s mum is here to see you!’ the student exclaimed breathlessly, even before reaching Dera. ‘Mrs. Nnaji told her it wasn’t necessary to see you, but she insisted on meeting you before leaving.’

In the past, Dera might have straightened her dress and hurried to greet her. However, she no longer needed to plead for help, thanks to Goodwall. She felt grateful for finding the support she needed, allowing her to clear her debts without resorting to begging.

‘Just let her know there’s no need to see me,’ Dera replied calmly.

‘All right, I’ll inform her,’ the girl said, turning to leave. She paused abruptly when she spotted Sharon approaching the garden. ‘She’s already here.’

As Dera glanced back, her gaze fell upon Sharon, who was exuding elegance in a captivating white and blue polka dot dress, accentuated by chic pumps, a sophisticated white high-end bag, and adorned with pearl drop earrings and a delicate pearl choker necklace. It was evident that Sharon had invested a considerable amount of money in her ensemble, a choice she had every right to make with her own finances. However, what remained unacceptable was the act of belittling Dera for her financial circumstances, mocking her for being less privileged.

With no reason to engage in conversation, Dera obstinately continued potting her cuttings, not even bothering to acknowledge Sharon’s presence. She wished she weren’t dressed in oversized farm clothes but instead wearing her new school uniform.  Her new uniform would have given her more confidence.

‘Hello, Dera,’ Sharon greeted as she walked closer. ‘I came here to assist you with your fees, but it seems you’ve already taken care of it. How did you manage this magic?’

‘It appears that you weren’t genuinely interested in paying my fees; you just wanted to uncover the source of my payment. No one ever cares about the origins of my poverty, so I’d prefer if you didn’t concern yourself with the source of my wealth either. Besides, I’m quite busy at the moment. You succeeded in entering, but as you leave, watch your step to avoid stepping in poop. You might not appreciate the odour if you end up smelling like it,’ Dera retorted.

Sharon wrinkled her nose at the compost’s stench and remarked, ‘You don’t seem eager to see me.’

‘Madam Sharon, I’m just a student and have no connection to the chairman of Peach Secondary School, so you’re welcome to visit,’ Dera shrugged, filling another flowerpot with soil. ‘In any case, I’d still like to thank you for suggesting that I work elsewhere.’

‘Well, I’m here to apologise for that... I admit I didn’t actually want to help you with your fees, but I truly am sorry,’ Sharon admitted.

‘What are you apologising for?’ Dera glanced at her surroundings. ‘You don’t have to apologise, ma’am. In fact, I’m the one who’s grateful. If you had helped me, I might not have discovered my newfound passion.’

‘Your newfound passion?’ Sharon scoffed mockingly. ‘You should have pursued a marriage instead of trading your body for money.’

‘It appears you’ve overstayed your welcome. Please leave, so I can proceed with my planting,’ Dera responded, her voice strained as she wrestled to maintain control over the anger brewing within her. Deep down, she recognised that succumbing to this anger would only result in uttering words she might later regret. ‘I have my perfume with me,’ she said, pulling out the bottle from her pocket and gracefully opening it. ‘It’s a constant companion,’ she added, a serene smile gracing her lips, as if finding solace in the comforting fragrance.

Sharon wrinkled her nose in disdain. ‘I wouldn’t waste my time smelling that. It’s probably just another one of your cheap tricks.’

Dera remained unfazed by Sharon’s comment and replied calmly, ‘It’s not about the price, ma’am. It’s about finding joy in the simple things. The scent of roses can transport us to beautiful memories and bring a sense of peace. I thought you might appreciate a moment of serenity in your busy life.’

Sharon’s expression softened for a brief moment before she regained her composure. ‘Well, I have better things to do than indulge in such nonsense. I’m leaving.’ She paused and turned back to Dera. ‘When I was a young girl, I always dreamt of having a garden filled with beautiful flowers at my home. I would often get distracted by the intriguing shops while wandering around as a child. I even imagined running a lovely flower shop myself. At times, I envisioned living in a glass house with transparent doors, where I could watch flashy cars pass by and wake up to the breathtaking sunrise in a lake house. I used to think that people living in such high-end houses must be extremely wealthy. Of course, people’s living arrangements often reflect their social status. Your clothes and shoes were seen as indicators of who you were. It’s all right to be poor, but don’t let others define you solely by that, Dera. Today, I have everything I ever wished for,’ Sharon paused, reflecting on her words.

‘Sure, no need for the reminder,’ Dera muttered to herself, uninterested in engaging in unnecessary melodrama.

‘I only began to like you because my daughter liked you. However, you’ve shown me that you can rise above your circumstances, and no one should judge you based on your poverty. For the first time, I want to say that I am proud of you. And I sincerely apologise,’ Sharon expressed, turning to leave. Suddenly, she turned back as if recalling something. ‘Dera, I once told you that you were like a rose, beautiful but lacking depth. You have proven me wrong. In such a short period of time, you have transformed into a single bloom with exceptional qualities, emanating a fragrance that everyone admires. And yes, I also enjoy the scent of petrichor. You smell like that.’

‘Well, everyone loves the scent of rain. Embracing the natural aroma of fallen rain is far superior to any perfume, as nothing can surpass the original source, right?’ Dera responded.

‘You have a very strong and sweet odour that’s hard to ignore. If I ever feel the desire to indulge in that scent, I’ll be sure to drop by,’ she responded, before making her exit.

Dera perceived the sincerity in Sharon’s words. ‘Today is the first time you’ve spoken like an adult. Thank you,’ Dera murmured to herself, turning back to her planting.

And as the fragrance of the rose-scented perfume lingered in the air, it served as a reminder to Dera that even in the most challenging times, she could find beauty and hope. With a heart full of determination and a spirit that couldn’t be easily shaken, Dera looked forward to the future, ready to embrace the opportunities that awaited her.

After a while, Dera closed the cap of her rose-scented perfume, setting it aside. ‘Perhaps I should create my own petrichor scent,’ Dera murmured playfully to herself, a hint of amusement in her voice. Curiosity piqued, she raised her hand to her nose, inhaling deeply, wondering if she carried a hint of that refreshing earthy fragrance reminiscent of rain-soaked soil.

As she walked back to the classroom after gardening, she couldn’t contain her radiant smile. Since Goodwall had granted her a chance, she resolved to share the same opportunity with others. She would spread the good news of Goodwall to everyone.

Goodwall had appeared out of nowhere like a glorious oasis, offering her and her family a chance to escape their dull and barren life, embracing countless days of laughter and happiness. She would forever be grateful to this social media platform.

When Dera reached the classroom door, she saw Jennifer waiting there, eager to hug her. Tears welled up in her eyes upon seeing Jennifer. ‘Dera! You’ve finally stopped the storm! I was so worried! It’s amazing to see you looking refreshed and adorable,’ Jennifer exclaimed before embracing Dera tightly.

Looking at Jennifer’s concerned reaction; Dera felt tears of gratitude filling her own eyes. ‘Thank you, Jennifer,’ she said sincerely.

Jennifer lifted her head, laughter mingling with tears. Dera joined in the laughter as well.

The girls made their way to their desks and sat down. Dera’s seat was in the third row next to the window. The sunlight filtered in, casting a gentle glow on her smiling face, making her look like the female protagonist of a romantic drama series.

Their form teacher, Mrs. Nnaji, entered the classroom five minutes later. The class monitor commanded, ‘All rise!’

The students stood up and greeted Mrs. Nnaji, who stood on the podium with a smile. Mrs. Nnaji was genuinely delighted to see Dera’s transformed appearance.

‘Please be seated, everyone,’ Mrs. Nnaji said with a smile. ‘I have an assignment for all of you. Your assignment is to deliver an oral presentation at the end of the week about a social media app that has personally benefited you and your family.’

Dera was filled with excitement about this assignment. She hadn’t yet informed Mrs. Nnaji about Goodwall. This presentation would give her the opportunity to share the app with her classmates and explain how it had been beneficial to her.

Whispering to Dera, Jennifer asked, ‘Which social media app will you write about?’

‘Goodwall,’ Dera replied.

Jennifer found Dera’s response amusing. ‘When did your crush become a social media app? Girl, you must really love Goodwall. Is he handsome? Tall?’ Jennifer playfully poked Dera’s nose, and they both chuckled.

‘Stop it. We’re in class. And yes, Goodwall is a social media app, the best one I know.’

‘Anyway, I like your sense of humour.’

Although Dera was telling the truth, Jennifer didn’t believe her. Dera wondered how Jennifer would react during the presentation.

‘On the day of the presentation, I’ll bring a box of doughnuts for you,’ Dera offered kindly.

After Mrs. Nnaji left the classroom, Dera dialled Andrew’s number and called him.

‘Is everything okay?’ Andrew asked with concern in his voice from the other end of the line. He was in his own classroom and lowered his voice to avoid interrupting the ongoing lecture.

‘Everything’s fine. I just wanted to tell you about my assignment,’ Dera replied.

‘You sound really excited. Care to share the details?’ Andrew enquired.

‘Of course,’ Dera happily responded, proceeding to explain the assignment to him.

‘Since you don’t have an internet phone yet, you should go to the internet café and gather more information about Goodwall. Google will be happy to provide you with all the details,’ Andrew suggested with a smile.

‘Yeah, I’m going to do that,’ Dera affirmed, her excitement evident in her voice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

Back at home, Dera settled by her window after returning from school. From there, she unintentionally overheard a conversation taking place across the street that seemed to be about her. Driven by the need to satisfy her curiosity, she couldn’t resist the urge to eavesdrop, carefully listening as a passerby spoke in a slightly raised voice, unintentionally allowing her to catch every word of the discussion clearly.

‘Dera has managed to clear her school debts. Everyone is wondering what magic she did. Rebecca said that Dera was able to do that because of her new boyfriend…’

As Dera eavesdropped on the conversation, she shielded her eyes from the late afternoon sun that pierced through the window like a fiery arrow. Suddenly, she remembered that she needed to go to the internet café. She moved to her small dresser and put on a white polo neck sweater and a plaid skirt. Spotting a jacket hanging on a hanger against the wall, she grabbed it and slipped it on over her ensemble, adding an extra layer of warmth and style.

With some money in hand, Dera mounted her bicycle and pedalled her way towards the internet café situated near her house. Arriving there, she swiftly made a deposit of one thousand naira and proceeded to the computer booth that had been assigned to her.

After entering the user ID and password provided on the internet card, she immediately searched for Goodwall. Clicking open the Wikipedia page, she read through the app’s history, services, partnerships, awards, and recognition with a smile.

She clicked on another webpage, patiently awaiting its loading while gazing at the screen. Once the page finished loading, she meticulously read through the article and realised the necessity of printing certain portions to aid her oral presentation in class. Glancing at the clock, she discovered that an hour had already passed, leaving her with a mere five minutes before her paid computer session expired. She pondered whether it was worth paying for another hour of browsing, considering she might not truly require it.

Without hesitation, she clicked the print button and rose from her seat, making her way towards the man seated at the front desk. The man seemed deeply engrossed in watching a documentary with the volume turned low, which Dera quickly discerned as a Clean and Green documentary.

‘Sir, I just had some information printed,’ she said, politely addressing him.

The man briefly glanced at the printer, pulled out the freshly printed papers, and handed them over to Dera. She promptly paid for the printouts and exited the internet café. Stepping outside, she immediately texted Andrew to inform him that she had completed the assignment and was excited to confidently present it in front of the class.

***       

At the shop, Emeka set down his coffee cup and placed a “closed” sign on the door as soon as he spotted Dera approaching. He didn’t want to burden Dera with serving the customers, so he made the decision to temporarily close the shop for a while, ensuring they could spend uninterrupted time together.

‘Dad, you don’t need to do that,’ Dera said. ‘People who want to buy something should be able to.’

She parked her bicycle in a corner, reversed the sign on the door, then removed her jacket and picked up the blue sweater hanging on a hook.

‘Mum asked me to bring this sweater home for washing,’ she explained, folding it and placing it inside her bag.

Emeka recalled Dera’s visit to the internet café and asked, ‘Did you finish your assignment?’

‘Yes,’ Dera replied, pulling out the printouts from her bag and showing them to her father.

‘I poured you some coffee,’ Emeka said, sipping his own. ‘But I wasn’t sure how you liked it.’ He handed Dera the cup of coffee and glanced at the printouts. ‘Goodwall is where ideas meet opportunities,’ Emeka read aloud. ‘We connect young people to jobs, skills, and scholarships. Because we believe youth can change the world... the app is a game changer for students.’

Dera nodded, a smile gracing her face, as she poured half of the Peak condensed milk she had taken from the shop into her coffee. With a pinch of sugar, she stirred the mixture and glanced at her own pale brown liquid in the chipped mug, then at her father’s black coffee, chuckling softly. ‘Dad, I must admit, I’m not a fan of the unadulterated blackness of your coffee,’ she playfully remarked.

Emeka lifted his face from the printouts and replied, ‘Should I make it as milky as Goodwall?’ he joked, causing Dera to laugh once more. After a brief pause, Emeka asked, ‘Besides cash prizes, what else does one stand to gain?’

‘A lot,’ Dera replied, finishing her coffee. ‘Through Goodwall, youth receive recognition. They have the opportunity to showcase their skills, make new friends, and find support from others who share their interests. With Goodwall, you don’t need millions of followers to be acknowledged. In other words, Goodwall is a positive and supportive community.’ She reached for a candy, unwrapped it, and added, ‘All you need is to install Goodwall on your phone, create an account, and off you go, soaring like an eagle.’ Dera raised her hands in excitement, feeling joyous as she popped the candy into her mouth. ‘Goodwall tastes as sweet as this candy,’ she said with a sweet smile, amused by her own whimsical thought.

‘Can I use Goodwall with my Nokia 3310?’ Emeka joked, eliciting a laugh from Dera.

‘You’re outdated,’ she replied, and Emeka joined in the laughter, acknowledging the outdated reference.

Just then, a customer entered the shop, catching Dera’s attention. She swiftly rose from her chair and attended to the woman’s needs, providing prompt assistance with a friendly demeanour.

***

The next morning, after having breakfast, Dera hopped on her bicycle and set off for school. Along the way, she spotted a billboard advertising a new fast-food breakfast and remembered that she had promised to buy a box of doughnuts for Jennifer. Pausing at a fancy doughnut shop, Dera purchased a box of delicious doughnuts for Jennifer and continued her ride to school.

As Dera entered the classroom, she walked towards her desk, noticing that the boy whose desk was situated in front of hers was already present, deeply engrossed in reading. With a friendly smile, Dera greeted him, and he responded with a nod of acknowledgment. The boy sported a well-groomed haircut, and she noticed that he had earphones on, although there was no music playing through them.

The morning assembly bell rang, and the students hurriedly made their way to the assembly hall. Dera placed her new backpack on her desk and carefully stowed the doughnuts inside her desk drawer before heading to the garden to check on the plants. Using the garden hose, she watered the plants and flowers, pruned some trees to ensure their health and tidiness, and swiftly watered the lawn with the garden sprinklers. Finally, she made her way to the assembly hall.

After the morning assembly, the students dispersed and headed back to their respective classrooms. Among them, Dera and Jennifer found their seats and prepared to settle in for the day. Dera’s desk was situated on the third row, while Jennifer’s was on the second row, situated in close proximity to each other. As they took their places, Jennifer turned around, looking at Dera. Dera feigned a tinge of sadness at the sight of Jennifer who was looking at her, pretending to be affected by Jennifer’s gaze.

‘Did your Goodwall tell you that I’m not good enough?’ Jennifer teased Dera, a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘I thought you were going to preach about him today. But it looks like he’s already given you the boot,’ she said playfully, reaching into her bag to retrieve her iPod. Catching Dera’s gaze, she formed a playful fist. Dera burst into laughter but decided to keep the secret of the doughnuts, hoping Jennifer would figure it out on her own. It was likely that the doughnuts were the cause of Dera’s feigned sadness.

‘Have you finished your assignment?’ Dera asked, her smile growing wider. ‘Which social media platform did you choose?’

‘Of course, Facebook,’ Jennifer replied confidently. ‘Facebook is the most popular social media platform. It’s the largest social networking site, with nearly 3 billion monthly users. I’m pretty sure everyone will be writing about it.’

‘Except me,’ Dera chuckled. ‘Facebook mostly benefits celebrities, but the social media platform I chose benefits everyone, especially students. It doesn’t matter what your social status or race is; as long as you’re willing to become part of the community, you’ll reap its rewards. You don’t need to advertise or have millions of followers to benefit from it. You’ll find out more about this unique social media platform when you join the community.’

Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘Facebook helps businesses grow their sales locally, nationally, and globally. It also supports entrepreneurship. If you want your business to thrive, you need Facebook’s marketing tools. So, you see, Facebook remains number one, followed by Twitter, Instagram, Messenger, and WhatsApp. Any other social media or chatting site just seems scammy.’

‘Scammy?’ Dera laughed. ‘By the time I’m done with my presentation today, you’ll be begging to be a part of Goodwall.’

‘Enough with this Goodwall obsession,’ Jennifer pouted. ‘Something smells amazing in here.’ She took a deep breath, savouring the scent. ‘Mmm, doughnuts.’ She glanced at Dera, a hopeful look in her eyes. ‘Did you bring the box of doughnuts?’

Dera grinned. ‘Let me whet your appetite by describing how delicious the doughnuts I bought for you look. There’s one with a simple glaze, another adorned with rainbow sprinkles, one filled with raspberry jelly, another with creamy vanilla filling, and the last two have a mouthwatering combination of bacon and maple frosting.’

‘Really? Tell me about this doughnut shop,’ Jennifer eagerly asked, her curiosity piqued.

‘Goodwall is the reason I was able to afford buying you those doughnuts,’ Dera leaned closer to Jennifer and whispered in her ear. ‘If you want to indulge in them, you’ll have to wait a little. You can only have them after my Goodwall presentation.’

Jennifer felt a pang of disappointment. ‘I’m your bestie. How could you suddenly be mean?’

Dera shrugged playfully. ‘A little patience, Jennifer.’ She laughed and continued, ‘You have no idea how amazing this doughnut shop is. Once you know, you’ll want to order everything they have.’ Dera retrieved the box from the drawer and placed it on the desk, allowing Jennifer a glimpse. But just as Jennifer reached for it, Dera swiftly lifted it out of her reach.

‘Girl, I hate you right now!’ Jennifer exclaimed, playfully feigning anger.

‘Don’t hate me,’ Dera teased. ‘I might change my mind and give it to someone else.’

Jennifer pretended to cry. ‘You can’t do that to your bestie!’

Dera burst into laughter. She opened the bag and revealed the half dozen delectable doughnuts, still warm and freshly made, causing Jennifer’s stomach to rumble. ‘Did you see that? If you hate me, the box will find a new owner.’

‘No, you’re the best,’ Jennifer quickly reassured, a playful smile on her face.

Dera chuckled. ‘Okay, I was just kidding. But I’m serious about not giving them to you until after our presentation.’ Dera closed the box and stowed it away, maintaining the air of anticipation.

When Mrs. Nnaji entered the classroom, the noise subsided, and all eyes turned to the podium where the teacher stood.

‘Good morning, class,’ Mrs. Nnaji greeted. She looked stunning in her yellow belted dress.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ they all responded in unison.

‘In the previous lesson, I informed you about today’s oral presentation, so I hope you’ve completed your homework and come prepared! Can the students in the front row please come up one by one and deliver your presentations? Remember to make them unique. This presentation is about the social media platform that has benefited you and your family. However, the student with the most convincing presentation will receive a prize from me. Are you all ready?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ everyone replied in unison.

Jennifer chuckled as she glanced at the papers on her desk, a confident smile forming on her lips. She had interviewed numerous Facebook users and received encouraging feedback from them. However, unbeknownst to her, everyone in the class had also conducted extensive research. It now became a matter of determining who had the most distinctive presentation and had genuinely reaped benefits from the social media platform they were utilising.

‘Dera, if I win, what will you do?’ Jennifer asked playfully.

Twirling a pen between her slender fingers, Dera replied, ‘If you win, I, Chidera Onuoha, will buy you a box of doughnuts for one week.’

Jennifer pouted cutely. ‘That sounds cool, bestie. Remember to keep your promise.’

‘Pinky promise,’ Dera affirmed.

Jennifer smiled sweetly. ‘Bestie, all the best to you too,’ she whispered to Dera, who nodded in response.

‘Same to you,’ Dera replied.

The students in the classroom cheered as the first speaker finished his presentation. Soon, it was the turn of the students in the second row.

Jennifer stepped up to the front of the class, holding some papers in her hand. All eyes were on her as she began her presentation. ‘I have always loved Facebook because it connects us to people we know and those we don’t. Facebook has the largest online community in the world, and almost everyone has an account. People today even make money through Facebook...’

Mrs. Nnaji, the teacher, interrupted Jennifer. ‘Can you tell us how you have personally benefited from it?’

Jennifer nodded. ‘Certainly, Mrs. Nnaji. My aunt met her American husband on Facebook, and they are now happily married with four children who are in high school.’

Hearing Jennifer’s story, the students cheered in excitement. Jennifer waited for them to quiet down before continuing.

‘Through Facebook, our businesses can be advertised effectively. It’s the best platform for advertising.’

‘What about scams?’ a student asked, prompting laughter from the class.

Jennifer responded confidently, ‘Scams exist everywhere, not just on Facebook. It’s not Facebook’s fault if we’re not careful. Sometimes, our greed leads us to become victims of scams. Thank you,’ she concluded her presentation, bowing to the class.

‘Chidera Onuoha, please come forward and present yours,’ Mrs. Nnaji announced when it was Dera’s turn.

Dera confidently picked up her meticulously prepared printouts and made her way to the podium, dressed impeccably in her peach-coloured shirt, pleated navy blue skirt, black tie, peach-coloured socks, and a peach blazer with the school logo—Peach Secondary School—on it. The skirt’s hem had been tailored slightly higher, revealing her long and graceful legs. With her hair neatly tied in a ponytail, she exuded a model-like aura, even in her school uniform. Dera truly deserved the title of a student model. With a charming smile on her face, she took the marker and wrote on the board: Eco-friendly Goodwall.

‘Isn’t Goodwall your boyfriend?’ everyone wondered in surprise.

Dera turned to address the class, a small smile playing on her lips. ‘Yes, Goodwall is my new crush,’ she began, capturing the attention of her classmates. ‘My new crush is the reason I’m standing here today.’ Her words exuded confidence and a radiant aura surrounded her, captivating the room.

Dera stood on the podium with grace as a glowing expression adorned her exquisite face, captivating the class like never before. The morning breeze gently wafted into the classroom, adding a touch of serenity to the atmosphere.

‘I call Goodwall eco-friendly because it is an app that even the breaking climate accepts,’ Dera said, her voice resonating with conviction. ‘This app poses no harm to our environment. You see, I’ve been a struggling student for about three years ever since my father lost his job in Owerri, the capital of Imo State. I faced ridicule because my father couldn’t afford to pay my fees on time. There was a point when I believed I wouldn’t be able to register for my WASSCE. As for NECO, it never even crossed my mind.’ Pausing to take a deep breath, Dera continued, her words brimming with determination. ‘I had an elder brother studying at the university, and I contemplated giving up on my own dreams to help my parents sponsor his education. But then, everything changed a few weeks ago when my brother returned home unexpectedly and introduced me to Goodwall...’

‘Never heard of that before,’ one student interjected curiously.

A smile graced Dera’s face as she responded to the student’s comment. ‘If you have your smartphone with you, I want you to Google Goodwall.’

Following Dera’s suggestion, everyone promptly pulled out their smartphones and began searching for Goodwall. As they delved into the app’s details and read the reviews, their interest grew exponentially.

‘I can’t believe it! An app that rewards you with cash prizes just for participating in challenges? Goodwall is perfect!’ exclaimed one student, clearly amazed by the concept.

A girl with pigtails added humorously, ‘But can Goodwall find us American husbands?’

Laughter erupted throughout the classroom, creating a jovial atmosphere.

Jennifer, her eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, chimed in, ‘Whether or not Goodwall can do that, I don’t care. Even if I fail in the challenges, I still want to be part of this community that brings out the best in people.’

Dera stood tall on the podium, surveying the intrigued faces before her. The class fell silent as Mrs. Nnaji, the teacher, requested their attention. She nodded to Dera, encouraging her to continue.

‘I was just three days away from the deadline when I decided to try my luck,’ Dera shared, her smile widening. ‘Out of the five challenges, I won in four, earning a total of $490.’

‘Wow, is that even possible?’ someone exclaimed, clearly astonished by Dera’s accomplishment.

‘At first, I doubted it myself,’ Dera admitted. ‘But I decided to give it a shot anyway. I wondered if the jury would be biased, like many others I’ve encountered. However, I was pleasantly surprised. They are fair and treat everyone equally.’ Pausing for effect, she added, ‘Through Goodwall, I was able to pay my fees, registered for NECO and WASSCE, purchased a new school uniform, a new backpack, and essential textbooks. And if you still doubt its authenticity, let me provide you with proof.’ Dera reached into her skirt pocket and retrieved a fifty-dollar note, lifting it before the class. ‘For the first time, I held American dollars in my hands. Goodwall made it possible. Goodwall is undeniably real.’

‘Is this a dream?’ Jennifer enquired with a grin.

‘It felt like a dream, but it turned out to be real. And even if it were a dream, I hope to Goodwall in my dreams too,’ Dera responded, causing laughter to fill the room once again.

Mrs. Nnaji couldn’t contain her delight as she observed Dera. She realised that Dera’s abilities and accomplishments surpassed her initial expectations. Not everyone could win challenges with hundreds of competitors, but Dera had emerged as a shining star, remarkable in every way. As a topnotcher every year, Dera’s brilliance was undeniable, and Mrs. Nnaji was thoroughly convinced of her exceptional nature.

Abraham, eager to engage with Dera, stood up and sought permission to ask a question. Mrs. Nnaji glanced at Dera and asked if she was open to taking questions. Dera replied affirmatively, welcoming the opportunity.

Abraham directed his question to Dera, referring to a Wikipedia article on his phone. The article described Goodwall as a platform primarily designed for the Gen Z demographic, enabling members to create a digital profile showcasing their skills and achievements through photos and videos. He wondered whether the information provided was accurate or potentially a paid advertisement.

Dera addressed the question, prompting laughter from the class. ‘Everything good is about Goodwall,’ she declared. ‘It’s a community designed specifically for young people to highlight their individuality, accomplishments, and talents through visual media such as pictures and videos.’ With a confident smile, she affirmed Abraham, ‘So, yes, the article you read is indeed accurate.’ Pausing briefly for effect, Dera continued to provide more insights. ‘The platform attracts members from diverse socioeconomic backgrounds and countries.’ She then shared additional information, ‘Goodwall was founded by Taha Bawa, the CEO, and Omar Bawa, the COO.’

Abraham was curious about Dera’s involvement with Goodwall, so he enquired further.

Dera proudly stated, ‘I am a proud member.’

Another student questioned the value of Goodwall beyond cash prizes. Dera explained that, in addition to the monetary rewards, the app provided opportunities for users to showcase their skills and achievements through photos and videos, and also offered online programs, scholarships, job opportunities, internship courses, volunteer work, and created a platform for entrepreneurs. Dera also emphasised the friendliness of Goodwall’s employees and how they were readily accessible to assist users.

When asked how she knew about the friendly nature of Goodwall’s employees, Dera shared her personal experiences. She had reached out to Jeff Barcelona, the Community Manager, with a query and received a polite response. Dera mentioned Román Josué De Las Heras Torres, a Senior Data Scientist at Goodwall, who actively engaged with users’ posts, and Riza Suficiencia, Community Specialist at Goodwall, who consistently upvoted her posts whenever she shared something on the platform. Dera spoke passionately about the inclusive and supportive nature of Goodwall, expressing her pride in being part of the Goodwall family. She highlighted the diverse opportunities the app had provided, including enabling some individuals to travel abroad. Dera assured her classmates that there was no discrimination on Goodwall, as everyone received a fair share, emphasising the fair judgment of the app’s jury.

Curiosity led Abraham to enquire about Goodwall’s revenue generation. Although Dera didn’t have specific knowledge, she mentioned that Goodwall collaborated with various companies, organisations, and governments to develop programs aimed at enhancing the skills and mobilisation of young people.

To satisfy the class’s curiosity, Dera named a few collaborating companies, such as UNICEF, Generation Unlimited, Yoma, Randstad NV, and SAP.

A student asked about the number of followers on Goodwall. After a pause, Dera responded, ‘Currently, Goodwall has more than two million members across 150 countries and is headquartered in Geneva, Switzerland.’

Abraham raised a concern about the seemingly low number of members for an eco-friendly platform like Goodwall. Dera and Abraham both agreed that with more people downloading the app and joining the community, the numbers would steadily increase. Dera encouraged everyone to share Goodwall with friends and family, eliciting grins from her classmates.

One student asked where they could find the app. Dera promptly responded, ‘Goodwall is available on Google Play and the iOS App Store. It’s on a mission to connect young people to opportunities. Let’s join the soaring jet that is Goodwall.’ With a bow, Dera concluded her oral presentation.

The classroom erupted in thunderous applause as everyone enthusiastically acknowledged Dera’s inspiring words.

Abraham, filled with excitement, exclaimed, ‘I just downloaded the app! Now, all of you should join the soaring jet too!’ The class burst into laughter at Abraham’s amusing remark.

One student suggested, ‘Dera, could you please read us that letter you wrote about Goodwall?’ The rest of the class nodded in agreement, eager to hear more.

‘Okay,’ Dera agreed, retrieving her diary from her bag. Standing before the class with a smile, she began reading the letter aloud:

Dear Goodwall,

As I sit here in my class, penning these words of gratitude, my heart swells with joy and appreciation for the magical space you have created. I want to take this moment to express my deep appreciation for the remarkable impact you have had on my life and the lives of countless others.

Since the day I downloaded you, my world has been infused with colours of inspiration, kindness, and creativity. You are not just an app but a gateway to a world of creativity, goodness, and connection.

Honestly, when I first heard of you, I didn’t believe that anything good would come from you. However, I later discovered that behind your digital façade lies a realm where strangers become friends, and acts of goodness blossom.

You stand as a beacon of light in a world clouded with negativity, reminding us that there is still beauty to be found and shared. I call you eco-friendly Goodwall because you are not harmful. Instead, with you, I feel the warmth of a peaceful and supportive community.

With you, I felt hope, and my weary soul uplifted. Each thought of you brought a smile to my face. Your existence serves as a reminder that we all possess the power to make a positive difference, no matter how small.

The most cherished part of you is the fact that you give voice to the voiceless every day. You’re a platform for the shy and a refuge for those seeking solace.

Goodwall, I want to thank you for being a sanctuary of creativity and connection. Thank you for fostering a community where strangers can come together, support one another, and leave traces of love and encouragement. Thank you for having no room for cyber bullying. Thank you for providing everyone with the opportunity to showcase their skills and talents. Your ability to bring out the best in people and inspire them to believe in reaching the top is truly remarkable. Thank you for serving as the ladder that has enabled numerous individuals to rise and reach their destinies, and thanks to the founders for their vision and efforts in creating such an empowering platform…

 I promise to wholeheartedly cherish this digital space, honour its value, and contribute to its tapestry of kindness. May you always radiate even in dark places. May your wall continue to inspire, your impact continue to grow, and may your footprint remain in the history of generations.

With heartfelt gratitude,

Dera Onuoha.

 

As Dera finished reading the letter, the classroom erupted in blissful applause. The students praised Dera for writing such a heartfelt and lovely letter.

‘Dera, write me a love letter, please,’ a student playfully requested, and the class laughed.

Observing her classmates downloading the app, Dera couldn’t help but smile happily. Their enthusiasm was a testament to the impact of her presentation.

‘Thank you, Dera, for letting us shine with you,’ Mrs. Nnaji commended, patting Dera’s shoulder. ‘That was very kind of you.’

Dera grinned and said, ‘Of course, it’s all thanks to Goodwall.’

Mrs. Nnaji nodded approvingly. ‘Go back to your seat. You’ve done very well. Class monitor, come up and present yours.’ 

With a smile, Dera made her way back to her desk, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

‘That was incredible,’ Jennifer exclaimed, hugging Dera affectionately. ‘I guess you’ve decided not to buy me a doughnut every week anymore.’

Dera chuckled and replied, ‘Let’s listen to Abraham now.’

‘You’re definitely winning. I better not waste my time listening to him. I didn’t realise that Goodwall was the opportunity young people need. I’ve been too busy posting selfies on my status and news feed instead of joining the soaring jet known as Goodwall,’ Jennifer admitted playfully, making Dera laugh.

When the presentation came to an end, Mrs. Nnaji took out a box from her bag and glanced at Dera’s seat. ‘Dera, come up again.’

Dera walked back to the podium, beaming with joy.

‘Here is your prize,’ Mrs. Nnaji said, handing the box to Dera. ‘I won this pen as a prize in an English competition during my finals at the university. Today, I happily give it to you, and I hope you always soar high like an eagle.’

Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes as she received the box and opened it to find a beautiful fountain pen. She was overwhelmed with happiness, grateful for such a meaningful gift from her teacher.

Moved by the moment, Mrs. Nnaji asked Dera to take a photo together, capturing the memory. Then, she took a group photo with all the students, proud of her class’s achievements.

***

During lunch in the cafeteria, Dera handed Jennifer the box of doughnuts.

‘You can share it with me if you want,’ Dera said with a sweet smile.

Jennifer glanced at the box and then shifted her gaze back to Dera, a playful smile gracing her lips. ‘I initially thought you bought it just for me,’ she chuckled. With a light-hearted gesture, she opened the box, revealing an array of delicious treats. Jennifer eagerly reached for a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut and indulged herself. ‘You know what, Dera,’ Jennifer said, her tone warm and inviting, ‘you’re more than welcome to help yourself. There’s joy in sharing, and love is meant to be spread.’ She gestured towards the box, encouraging Dera to select her desired treat, emphasising the spirit of camaraderie and generosity.

Dera chuckled. ‘You sound as though you’re the one that bought these doughnuts.’ She rolled her eyes playfully.

Jennifer couldn’t help but chuckle at Dera’s playful remark. ‘You’re right,’ she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘You may have bought them, but the doughnuts are all mine, right?’

Dera joined in the lighthearted banter, playing along. ‘Of course,’ she joked, her laughter mingling with Jennifer’s. The joyful atmosphere set the stage for their delightful treat.

Jennifer reached for another mouthwatering doughnut from the box. Taking a bite of her selected treat, her eyes widened with pure delight. ‘Oh, this is delicious!’ she exclaimed, savouring the delectable flavours that danced on her taste buds.

With a gleeful grin, Dera reached for a vanilla cream-filled doughnut and eagerly took a generous bite, relishing the moment as the creamy goodness enveloped her mouth. An approving nod followed. ‘Mmm, absolutely delicious,’ she exclaimed with a satisfied expression.

The two girls shared a joyous laughter, their spirits lifted by the simple pleasure of indulging in the doughnuts and each other’s company.

‘Dera, how come you don’t make mistakes in your studies?’ Jennifer suddenly asked, curious.

‘I do make mistakes,’ Dera replied, taking another big bite. ‘However, I learn from them and use those lessons to reinforce my learning.’

After lunch, Mr. Johnson called Dera to his office. Unlike before, Dera felt confident and unburdened as she walked towards his office. The weight of being a struggling student had lifted, and she no longer felt ashamed.

Standing in front of Mr. Johnson’s office door, Dera knocked and waited for a response.

‘Come in,’ Mr. Johnson’s voice called from inside.

Dera turned to Jennifer and said, ‘I’ll be fine. You can go back to class.’ She pushed the door open and entered. ‘Mr. Johnson, you wanted to see me?’ Dera addressed the principal respectfully, choosing not to let past grievances affect her manners.

Mr. Johnson nodded and asked, ‘Dera, what is this app that I’ve been hearing about?’

Jennifer contemplated lingering near the office door to listen, wanting to ensure that the principal didn’t reprimand or embarrass Dera. However, since Dera had told her to return to class, Jennifer had no choice but to comply. She turned around and left.

‘It’s Goodwall,’ Dera replied.

‘Did the company pay you to advertise for them?’ Mr. Johnson enquired, reaching for his coffee cup.

Dera shook her head. ‘No, Sir… it was my assignment.’

‘How about I pay you to download the app for me, and then open an account for me?’ Mr. Johnson asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

‘You don’t need to pay me,’ Dera replied. ‘Can I have your phone?’ she requested.

‘Sure.’ Mr. Johnson handed his iPhone 14 to Dera.

Dera swiftly downloaded the app onto his phone, opened an account for him, and handed his phone back. ‘It’s done.’

‘Thank you, Dera. If you want, you could join the mathematics competition,’ Mr. Johnson offered. ‘And again, you don’t have to work in the garden anymore.’

‘Thank you, but no, thanks,’ Dera refused. ‘For the mathematics competition, I’d rather focus on my forthcoming exams.’ She had initially considered participating but later decided to prioritise her exams. ‘As for the gardening, I love planting trees, flowers, and vegetables. I just enjoy tending to plants. I will continue with the work, but you can tell the gardening team to join me instead. Thank you, Sir.’

Mr. Johnson marvelled at the remarkable achievements Dera had made recently, truly impressed by her determination and capability. Seeing her potential, he became convinced that she possessed the ability to accomplish anything she set her heart on. However, a pang of regret washed over him as he reflected upon his past actions—shutting her out of the library and causing her embarrassment in front of the entire school. He couldn’t help but feel remorse for those moments.

‘Dera, even if you have a hard time with something, you seem to be doing just fine to the outside world... you never close your door... creativity runs through your veins. In fact, you simply have the personality of Goodwall. Maybe you should change your name to Goodwall,’ Mr. Johnson remarked, offering a sweet compliment.

Dera smiled but chose not to respond. Instead, she headed for the door.

When Dera returned to the classroom, Jennifer turned around and asked, ‘Dera, I think the principal actually regrets what he did to you, right?’

Abraham, who overheard Jennifer’s question, replied, ‘Of course, he regrets it.’

After school that day, Dera rode her bicycle home, enjoying the gentle breeze and the rustling of green leaves. The atmosphere was peaceful and serene.

Upon arriving home, Dera spotted Andrew standing under the tall tree in their compound. The scene was so beautiful that Dera wished she had a smartphone to capture her handsome brother, who looked like a piece of art in the golden sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Noticing a box on the bench beside him, she approached Andrew and playfully tickled him. Startled, he turned around and burst into laughter.

‘Ooh, did I startle you?’ Dera asked, laughing.

‘A little,’ Andrew replied, smiling. He reached for the box on the bench and handed it to her. ‘Take this.’

‘What could it be?’ Dera asked, opening the rectangular box to reveal a second-hand black Samsung phone. It wasn’t brand new, but it was still nice.

‘I should have bought you a brand new phone, but...’ Andrew trailed off.

Dera chuckled. ‘It might be fairly used, but I really like it. Honestly, I do. Let me try out the camera. Stay still.’

Dera moved away from the tree and captured pictures of Andrew. She had wanted to capture a moment of her brother sitting under that tree, and now that she could, she felt a surge of happiness.

‘Thank you... you look very handsome,’ Dera said.

The corners of Andrew’s lips curled into a smile when he saw the pictures. They turned out great. ‘That phone was for you to Goodwall on,’ he remarked.

Dera laughed and opened the Goodwall app that Andrew had thoughtfully installed on her phone, and then she logged into her account. To her delight, she noticed that ten of her classmates were already following her on the platform. Filled with excitement, she swiftly tapped on the “Follow” button in return, instantly connecting with them and sending warm messages of welcome, expressing her genuine enthusiasm for their presence on Goodwall.

Just then, Dera received a message notification from Jennifer, asking if she had returned home already.

Dera smiled and replied, ‘Yes, I just got home. Andrew got me a nice phone.’

‘Really?’ Jennifer was thrilled.

‘Yes!’ Dera exclaimed with affirmation, a burst of joy sparkling in her eyes. She quickly snapped a joyful selfie with her phone, capturing the moment and the radiant smile adorning her face. With a skip in her step, she proceeded to make her way inside. Upon entering the living room, she was greeted by a delightful surprise. Andrew had lovingly replaced the worn-out, frayed cushions with brand new ones, showcasing their vibrant colours and adding a refreshing touch to the space. Dera’s face lit up with pleasant surprise, appreciating the transformation and the newfound splash of colour that brought renewed life to the room.

***

On the morning of the WASSCE, which was on Wednesday, May 17th, Dera woke up early and prepared herself. She didn’t even have time to do her regular morning chores. As she ate her breakfast, she checked the items she needed to bring to the exam hall.

‘I’ll take you there,’ Emeka said as he put on his jacket.

‘This isn’t my first day at Peach Secondary School.’

‘But it’s your first day of the big exam that will change your life,’ Emeka said with a smile. ‘I want to be part of it.’

Dera smiled without any objections.

Since it was the WASSCE exam day for all government-registered secondary schools and WASSCE centres, students heading for the exam could be seen everywhere. English Language was a general paper, so everyone would be writing it today.

Near Peach Secondary School, officers were directing traffic to avoid road congestion. Parents and taxis taking students to the exams were also seen parking their cars near the school gates.

‘Dad, I’m going in,’ Dera said to her father as soon as the taxi stopped in front of the school gates.

Emeka nodded with a smile as he took out Dera’s bicycle from the taxi’s trunk. ‘All the best, Dera. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just do your best,’ he said as he stood in front of his daughter and patted the top of her head. ‘Ask questions if you’re confused. It’s allowed, right?’

Dera smiled.

‘Don’t forget to dot your i’s and cross your t’s, okay?’ Emeka reminded. ‘Write your names in capital letters.’

Dera nodded. Then, she took a few steps forward and jogged back to her father.

‘Dera, what’s the matter?’ Emeka asked, concerned.

Smiling, she reached out to interlock her fingers with Emeka’s and tilted her face up with a sweet smile. ‘Getting blessings from my wonderful father.’

Emeka reached out and playfully pinched Dera’s cheek. ‘You already have my blessings, even if you don’t ask for them.’

‘But I still need to seek your blessings every time,’ she said, a warm smile gracing her face as she looked at him. ‘Please don’t come to pick me up after the exams. I’ll make my own way home. I have to go now.’ With a final wave, she turned around and confidently walked through the school gates, pulling her bicycle alongside her instead of riding it.

Emeka couldn’t stop smiling as he watched his daughter enter the school compound after being checked by the security officers hired to prevent unauthorised individuals from entering.

Parents who had come to bring their children for the exam turned to look at him. Some even whispered to each other, aware of the challenges Emeka had faced in registering his daughter. Some were happy that Dera had made it through in the end.

Emeka listened to the conversations around him with interest and smiled when his daughter was applauded for being brave and optimistic.

There was a serene atmosphere in the exam hall as Dera entered, with everyone focused on revising what they had learned. This exam was a crucial one that determined whether they would qualify for university admission or not. The day’s exam consisted of three papers in WAEC English: Papers 1 and 2, which were Essay and Objectives, and Paper 3, which was the Test of Orals.

When the bell rang, signalling the start of the first paper, Dera received her exam script and smiled confidently. She picked up her pen, bowed her head, and began answering the essay questions. As the seats were arranged alphabetically, Dera found herself seated towards the back row.

Sitting next to the window in the last row was Jennifer, whose surname placed her in the alphabetical tail end of the WAEC seating arrangement. Dera, completely focused on the exam, didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings and wrote confidently. Meanwhile, some students who hadn’t prepared well for the English essay exam glanced around for help, while others made frequent trips to the bathroom, attempting to sneak peeks at their English textbooks or smartphones. The scene in the hall was quite amusing to watch.

During the break, Dera asked Jennifer how the essay went. Jennifer replied with a laugh, ‘I did my best. English isn’t my favourite subject, but I gave it a shot.’

Dera then shared some advice about the upcoming Objectives section, emphasising the importance of careful consideration before choosing the answers.

Jennifer chimed in, ‘That’s why we use pencils. If we make any mistakes, we can easily erase the wrong answers. And if I come across a difficult question, I’ll rely on luck and go with the safe bet of choosing option C for every question.’

Dera laughed and offered her assistance, saying, ‘If you find any questions challenging, just ask me right away.’ Jennifer playfully called her “Robin Hood,” to which Dera responded, ‘My goal is not to steal from the rich to give to the poor,’ with a pout.

By twelve-thirty in the afternoon, it was time for the Objectives section. As the invigilator distributed the exam booklets, Dera quickly skimmed through the entire paper before shading the correct answers with her HB pencil. She filled out the booklet happily, while some students randomly selected options ABCD without even reading the questions, relying solely on luck or cheating with “expo.” On the other hand, those who had prepared well answered the questions confidently without any shortcuts.

Dera finished first but took her time to review her answers and ensure accuracy. When the exam concluded for the day after the Test of Orals, the students gathered their belongings, submitted their booklets to the invigilator, and exited the hall, engrossed in conversation. At the school gates, parents anxiously surrounded their children, enquiring about how the exams went, their level of difficulty, and whether any cheating occurred.

Dera, without the privilege of private tutors or extra classes, relied on self-study. Riding her bicycle home, she stopped by her parents’ shop and hugged them tightly, sharing how well the exams had gone. Her parents expressed pride in her achievements, and Dera playfully remarked, ‘I should receive grand compliments when I pass the exams.’ They reassured her, and the conversation turned to her next exam—Government.

In the following days, Dera effortlessly tackled the remaining exams, with the Igbo Language exam marking the end on Friday, June 23rd. While she occasionally sought guidance from her teachers, she was proud that 80 percent of the exams were as a result of her own efforts. She felt a deep sense of pride in her accomplishment.

On the final day of the WASSCE exam, Andrew arrived at the school to pick up Dera. As soon as she spotted him at the school gates, she hurried over and embraced him tightly.

‘Andrew!’ Dera whispered excitedly.

‘How were the exams?’ Andrew enquired, sporting a smile.

‘They went well,’ Dera replied, her smile radiating warmth and joy, reminiscent of a beautiful and cheerful sunflower in full bloom.

Meanwhile, Jennifer stood nearby, wearing a sweet grin. She didn’t want to disrupt this heartfelt moment between siblings, so she chose to remain quiet. When Andrew noticed Jennifer, he reached out and patted her shoulder.

‘Hope you did well too?’ Andrew asked Jennifer.

Jennifer nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Is your mum coming to pick you up?’ Andrew enquired.

Jennifer shook her head. ‘She’s in a board meeting.’

‘All right then, let’s go and celebrate,’ Andrew suggested.

‘But we’re not even sure about the exam results yet,’ Jennifer pointed out.

‘Don’t overthink it. Peach Secondary School is one of the best schools to take WASSCE exams. Even if you didn’t study well, the school didn’t leave anyone behind, right?’ Andrew reassured with a knowing smile.

Jennifer nodded, understanding his point.

‘So, let’s get going,’ Andrew said with a smile. ‘I won $200 from #MyStudentLife challenge! After taking care of my textbook expenses and paying off my school fees, I still have some cash left. Today, it’s my treat, ladies.’ Andrew’s joy radiated through his every word and gesture as he took the lead, guiding his sister and Jennifer towards a nearby fast-food restaurant.

‘We still have NECO to write,’ Dera mentioned as they settled down in a fast-food restaurant to enjoy noodles with fried eggs.

‘Some students didn’t register for NECO,’ Jennifer remarked, taking a big bite of her noodles.

‘It’s not mandatory. If you’re confident of passing the WASSCE, why spend money sitting for NECO?’ Andrew looked at Dera and Jennifer, who were facing him. ‘However, no one can be entirely sure, which is why they register for both exams. Somehow, I believe it’s important to take them. Some students couldn’t register for NECO due to financial constraints, while others didn’t because they were optimistic about passing their WASSCE.’

‘We have three weeks to relax,’ Jennifer beamed.

‘No, you have three weeks to prepare,’ Andrew corrected. ‘Make sure to study hard.’

Jennifer nodded happily.

***

Three weeks later, the NECO exam commenced, and those who had registered returned to school to sit for their exams.

And just like that, the examination came to an end. On that day, all the students felt a sense of imminent separation. After today, they might not cross paths or see each other again. Those who passed either their WASSCE or NECO would have the opportunity to take the UTME, while those who didn’t perform well would have to retake the exams next year, explore menial jobs, learn new skills, or even consider getting married. Some might be fortunate enough to be featured on TV or in newspapers, while others might remain hidden in their cosy homes forever.

At this moment, the differences between individuals became apparent. In this journey of life, everyone had their own path to follow.

Reflecting on their shared experiences, they shed tears of both joy and sorrow, engaged in passionate debates, shared hearty laughter, and even reminisced about the occasional conflicts they had experienced during the six years they spent together in secondary school. And as they stood on the threshold of parting ways, their hearts were filled with a mix of emotions. They hoped to see each other again. They wished for success on their respective journeys in life.

‘This is Peach Secondary School. Let’s not dwell on anything disheartening,’ Dera said as she reached the photo booth on the school lawn, clutching a graduation autograph book, just like the other students. ‘We’ll always come back for a reunion. That way, we can see each other every year, okay?’ Her eyes were warm and bright.

‘I like that,’ Jennifer said, her smile reaching her eyes. ‘We should create a group chat not only on Whatsapp but also on Goodwall.’

The students wholeheartedly embraced Dera’s suggestion with enthusiasm. The idea of a student reunion resonated deeply, presenting an ideal opportunity to reconnect and reminisce. However, they acknowledged that not everyone might be able to attend due to their demanding schedules. Some students might also choose not to join the reunion due to a sense of inferiority, fearing they might not have achieved the same level of success as their peers who could potentially become top business magnets or celebrities. Nevertheless, the overall sentiment of the group remained positive, recognising the importance of rekindling connections and cherishing the shared memories, regardless of individual paths and accomplishments.

‘I’m going to create a group chat for us. We’ll be closer than we can imagine,’ Dera suggested again.

They exchanged their autograph books, signing for each other. Suddenly, Abraham started humming a Thank You Teacher song, and the other students happily joined in.

Soon, the sound of joyful voices filled the lush lawn as they sang and danced together. Seated on the vibrant green grass, they ate, drank, and sang in unison. The students wished for this moment to last a little longer, as it would likely be the last time they would all be together.

‘Today marks the end of a chapter in your lives, but it also marks the beginning of a new one,’ Mrs. Nnaji addressed the students, capturing their attention. They turned towards her, eager to listen. ‘Every day, you are the authors of your own story, writing a new page and flipping through the chapters until the end of your life’s journey.’ Mrs. Nnaji paused and continued, ‘Each of your stories will be unique, filled with suspense, excitement, challenges, and unexpected twists. The beauty lies in the fact that you hold the pen and have the power to shape your own narrative. Along the way, new characters will enter your story. Some will play significant roles as supporting leads, others will be important extras, and some may have smaller parts. Yet, each character, big or small, will have an impact on your life. That’s why it’s crucial to choose your characters wisely.’ She emphasised, ‘As the scriptwriter of your life’s story, I urge you to be mindful of the roles you assign to others. A well-written and well-acted story has the potential to captivate audiences and reach great heights. Just like a box office hit, a good story requires careful selection of characters and thoughtful execution.’

The students absorbed Mrs. Nnaji’s words, understanding the importance of their choices and the impact they could have on their own life’s narrative. With a newfound appreciation for their role as storytellers, they eagerly embraced the challenge of creating a compelling and fulfilling story for themselves.

A gentle evening breeze caressed the lawn, carrying with it a sense of melancholy. Mrs. Nnaji could feel the students’ reluctance to part ways, their hearts heavy with sadness. Deep down, they longed to stay together. However, she knew that growth and personal development required them to embark on separate paths.

As Mrs. Nnaji addressed the students, her voice filled with empathy, she shared their sentiment. ‘If I had the power, I would write a story where all of you could remain together, where joy would fill every page, and your deepest desires would come true. However, life’s journey demands that each of us takes charge of our own stories.’ With warmth in her eyes, she encouraged them, ‘As you continue writing the chapters of your lives, never forget that you are both the authors and the lead characters. Craft a script that brings you fulfillment and leaves you with a smile of satisfaction.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the students replied in unison, their voices filled with determination and understanding.

Mrs. Nnaji knew that her words had resonated with them. She trusted that they would embrace the challenges ahead, armed with the knowledge that they held the power to shape their own destinies. With hearts filled with hope and minds brimming with possibilities, they were ready to script their stories with purpose and resilience.

Emotions ran high, and tears freely cascaded down their cheeks. Mrs. Nnaji, too, had teary eyes. As she turned to leave, Dera hurriedly caught up to her, wrapping her arms around her from behind as tears streamed down her face.

‘Dera, what are your plans before entering the university?’ Mrs. Nnaji asked Dera.

Mrs. Nnaji had always supported Dera in her dreams. So with this question, Dera felt she shouldn’t hide anything.

‘I’m going to look for work. If I save enough, then I will be able to enroll in a one-year computer training program. After that, I’ll apply for my UTME... I’ll be eighteen by then,’ Dera replied, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I can’t be a good journalist without computer knowledge. Besides, I’ve heard that the UTME examination is computer-based. The training will strengthen my skills and help me have a smooth examination experience.’ She managed a smile, but tears still gently trickled down her face.

Mrs. Nnaji turned around to face her. ‘I might see you on the big screen one day.’

Dera laughed, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘I am not going to be an actress...’

‘I wasn’t talking about that. I was referring to you becoming a reporter in one of the top TV stations,’ Mrs. Nnaji reassured Dera, patting her shoulder. ‘Work hard. I know you can do it. I believe in you.’

‘Yep. Thank you, ma’am,’ Dera replied gratefully.

Mrs. Nnaji reached out to touch Dera’s face. ‘If you ever need anything, I am just a Goodwall message away from you.’

They both laughed, sharing a moment of genuine connection. Dera held Mrs. Nnaji’s hand. ‘Thank you so much for everything. You gave me the strength to always hope and believe.’

Mrs. Nnaji smiled. ‘Dera, there’s a saying that life is like a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving... I want you to keep pedalling.’ She let out a sigh. ‘Go and chat a little with your classmates. You might never have a chance like this again.’

Dera nodded with a smile and headed back to her classmates. As she looked at the school grounds filled with beautiful flowers, she felt a sense of pride for helping take care of the plants and flowers.

***

When the results for both WAEC and NECO were released, Dera wasted no time. She grabbed her WAEC and NECO scratch cards and headed to the internet café. Sitting in front of her computer, she navigated to the WAEC Result Checking Portal and patiently waited for the webpage to load.

After the portal opened, Dera swiftly entered her 10-digit WAEC Examination Number in the designated box on the screen. She provided the four digits of her examination year, selected the type of examination, entered the e-PIN Voucher Number, and finally, entered the personal identification number from her e-PIN. With anticipation, she clicked on the Submit button.

Dera’s heart raced as she waited for the results window to appear. Nervously, she looked at the screen. Closing her eyes for a moment, she then gently opened them. Her excitement soared when she saw six A1 and three B2 grades.

‘I did it!’ she screamed with excitement. Turning around, she hugged an old man who happened to be standing behind her, talking on the phone. The man was taken aback and momentarily speechless. ‘I did it! My WASSCE results are excellent!’ She pointed to the screen, tears of joy streaming down her face.

‘My granddaughter failed hers. But I must say, you’re amazing. Check your NECO results; I’m sure you’ll do well there too,’ the old man said, smiling at Dera before continuing his phone call.

‘I’m sorry that she failed,’ Dera murmured. Then, she composed herself and proceeded to check her NECO results. Overwhelmed with happiness, she couldn’t contain her emotions when she saw seven A’s and two B’s.

Upon returning home, she embraced her parents and brother, proudly showing them the result printouts. Dera grabbed her mobile phone and called Mrs. Nnaji, sharing the news about her results. Mrs. Nnaji couldn’t contain her excitement upon hearing the results. She had never doubted that Dera would achieve such outstanding marks.

‘Keep riding,’ Mrs. Nnaji encouraged.

Dera smiled sweetly. ‘Always.’ She hung up and joined her family at the dining table.

Beatrice prepared a mouthwatering dinner of rice and chicken stew. As everyone eagerly indulged in the delicious meal, Dera reached for her phone to post her exam results on Goodwall, considering it one of her first significant achievements. She also took the opportunity to express her gratitude to Goodwall for playing a behind-the-scenes role in making it possible. Although Goodwall wasn’t aware of its impact on her journey, Dera felt compelled to thank the platform.

Just as she uploaded the photos and commented on her results, a message from Jeff Barcelona popped up on her screen. Excitement surged through her as she opened it and discovered that she had won third place in the #Food4Thought challenge and had been selected to travel to Italy.

‘I was selected to go to Italy!’ Dera exclaimed with sheer joy.

‘What?’ Andrew looked at Dera curiously. ‘I thought as the third grand winner, you weren’t included in the trip but only to receive the package...’

‘Look at this,’ Dera said, handing her phone to Andrew.

‘That’s true!’ Andrew hugged Dera excitedly.

Emeka couldn’t believe his eyes. When he saw the message on Dera’s phone, he stood up in disbelief. ‘Dera, this is real!’ he confirmed.

‘Yes, it’s real,’ Dera nodded with a radiant smile.

‘Who is sponsoring this?’ Beatrice asked, her curiosity piqued.

‘Bites of Transfoodmation and Wyss Academy,’ Dera answered, still overwhelmed by the news.

Dera was going to Italy! It was dreams come true. The entire family was elated by this incredible opportunity.

‘Mum, dad, I have never imagined...’ Tears welled up in Dera’s eyes. ‘I’ve always wished to travel, but I never thought I’d be given such a tremendous opportunity. It came so soon! Thank you, Goodwall, for this amazing opportunity.’

‘You make it sound as if Goodwall is here,’ Andrew teased, and they all burst into laughter.

‘You truly deserve it,’ Emeka said, his voice filled with tenderness as a heartfelt smile adorned his face. ‘For the first time in our family’s history, someone is travelling abroad.’ Tears of joy filled Emeka’s eyes, marking the first time he openly shed tears in front of his family. Swiftly wiping away the tears, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude towards GOD for blessing him with such a beautiful family.

After dinner, Dera took out her mobile phone. She couldn’t wait to share the news with the group chat she had created. Her classmates couldn’t believe it, but they were genuinely thrilled for her. They all logged on to comment on her post, wishing her a safe and memorable trip.

***

That night, after a long and soothing bath, Dera put on her nightgown and sat by the window in her small bedroom. The rain poured heavily outside, and as she watched it, a profound sense of happiness enveloped her. It reminded her of her mother’s words: “Dera, please believe in miracles. Even if you don’t believe me right now, I want you to learn from the rain... The first rain was pretty much overdue, but it rained anyway. And it rained for almost two hours and stopped clean. Just like that, a fresh start was granted… Look at the trees and leaves; they look happy again after experiencing the dusty harmattan season that almost drained them of their water. Today, they are nourished by the rain…”

Everything that was happening felt surreal to Dera, like a dream turned into reality. She had been able to take her exams because of Goodwall, and now she was on her way to Lagos Murtala Muhammed International Airport, all thanks to Goodwall’s unassuming support in fulfilling her dreams and the dreams of many others.

‘I never expected this,’ she murmured to herself as she arrived at Lagos Murtala Muhammed International Airport, accompanied by Andrew. From taking her secondary school final exams to now heading to Rome, it felt like a miraculous journey. She smiled sweetly, dragging her small leather suitcase as she made her way into the airport lounge.

Dressed in pink floral dress, white sneakers, and donning large, light-coloured sunglasses, Dera captured the attention of many in the resting area, despite a portion of her beautiful face being covered.

‘Are you hungry, Dera?’ Andrew glanced at her, dressed in a grey suit and a red tie.

Taking a seat on a soft chair, Dera smiled and replied, ‘Just being here fills me up.’

‘I won’t take no for an answer.’ Andrew stood up and returned with a hot dog and a bottle of coke. ‘You need to eat something at least. You have a long journey ahead.’

Dera smiled gratefully, accepting the hot dog and coke. ‘Thank you for understanding.’

Andrew chuckled. ‘Goodwall has changed their payment method. Also, winners are now announced at the end of the challenge.’

‘That’s still cool,’ Dera replied, taking a sip of her coke.

Andrew nodded and after a brief pause, he said, ‘Goodwall just posted another challenge a few minutes ago.’

Dera’s excitement grew as she expressed her interest in the new challenge on Goodwall. Eager to learn more, she turned to Andrew and asked, ‘Really? Can you tell me a little about the challenge?’

Andrew nodded, happy to share the details. ‘Certainly! The #NigeriaSpeaks challenge invites us to share either a captivating photo or a 1 to 2-minute video that highlights the most common challenges faced by ourselves or our family community,’ he explained and continued after a brief pause, ‘This exciting initiative is sponsored by TecBlu Limited, an integrated technology service company. I heard that Goodwall was recently launched in Nigeria in collaboration with TecBlu Limited, its Nigerian partner.’ Andrew further elaborated, ‘The #NigeriaSpeaks campaign serves as Goodwall’s way of rolling out in Nigeria and providing a platform for young Nigerians to share their unique vision for Nigeria’s future. It’s an opportunity to shed light on the challenges we face and collaborate in finding solutions. ‘And the best part is, there are incredible prizes worth up to $1500 waiting to be won by the most outstanding participants.’

Dera’s enthusiasm swelled as she grasped the significance of the challenge and the chance to make a meaningful impact. She eagerly anticipated participating in the #NigeriaSpeaks challenge, and share her vision for Nigeria’s future.

Dera took a sip of her coke and responded, ‘When I get to Rome, I’ll definitely participate.’

‘Okay,’ Andrew acknowledged, then continued, ‘The #NigeriaSpeaks initiative, as I read in an online article, aims to empower young Nigerians to express their vision for Nigeria’s future… Taha and Omar Bawa have truly done an admirable job. They deserve applause for creating a platform like Goodwall.’

Dera nodded in agreement, appreciating the efforts of Taha and Omar Bawa in establishing Goodwall and providing a platform for Nigerian youth to share their voices and aspirations for a better future.

They engaged in conversation until they heard the announcement. Dera stood up, hugged her brother, and turned to leave. After passing through security checks, she entered the waiting area.

After a half-hour wait, around 1 o’clock in the morning, she began boarding the plane. Just as she was about to enter, she received a message from Andrew. Smiling, she replied that she was boarding and doing well, sharing a few photos with him.

With a warm smile, she settled into her seat in the Economy Class Cabin. After listening to the instructions from the friendly flight attendant, Dera glanced around at her fellow passengers, secretly pinching herself to ensure she wasn’t in a dream.

‘Thank God I found Goodwall,’ Dera sighed happily as she pulled out her phone and read the chats from the other two girls who were already making their way to Rome. They would be arriving around the same time.

She eagerly awaited takeoff, hoping nothing would hinder her journey. Finally, after the half-hour wait, the plane took off, ascending into the skies. She knew there would be a stopover in Casablanca, and a sense of excitement filled her.

After the stopover in Casablanca, Dera boarded another plane bound for Rome. Finally, around four in the evening, the plane touched down at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport in Fiumicino. Her smile widened at the sight of the beautiful surroundings.

The other two grand winners of the #Food4Thought challenge were already at the arrivals area, eagerly awaiting Dera’s arrival. As Dera approached, they greeted her with excitement, thrilled to finally meet in person. Among them was a friendly lady, an intern from Bites of Transfoodmation, who warmly welcomed Dera and her fellow winners.

Dera felt a genuine sense of appreciation for the intern’s kind and warm-hearted nature. The warm welcome instantly made her feel at ease and excited for the upcoming experiences they would share as part of their grand prize.

As they walked through the bustling arrivals hall, Dera couldn’t help but admire the diversity of people going in different directions, amidst the noise. Instead of chatting with the other girls, she decided to soak in the beauty of the place and the warmth of the people around her.

Now, as they settled into the car assigned to pick them up, Dera’s gaze was drawn to the mesmerising scenery outside the window. Feeling inspired by the beauty she found in Goodwall, she retrieved her diary from her bag and gently placed it on her lap. With a sense of purpose, she began to pen her thoughts, reflecting on the transformation she had experienced:

In the past, my dreams were limited to becoming a wealthy Journalist, solely focused on attaining financial success and indulging in luxuries for myself. I had even harboured thoughts of relishing in the misfortunes of others, unaware of the impact it had on my own humanity. I was willing to turn my back on those who had caused pain to my family during our most difficult times. However, the unexpected help from Goodwall has taught me the importance of kindness and compassion towards all.

As Goodwall exists in the digital realm, where connections thrive and screens come alive, where hearts of both old and new intertwine, where hopes whisper in untold pixels, and where gracious hands reach out across great distances, it has become my aspiration to be a source of support for many. Through uplifting words and caring gestures, Goodwall has reminded me of the significance of sharing a touch of sweetness and sprinkling light in every interaction I have, extending goodness and kindness to others without dwelling on the sadness inflicted upon me.

A profound sense of gratitude fills my heart for Goodwall. It has empowered me to stand tall and face my challenges without compromising my self-worth. Today, as I traverse the enchanting city of Rome, I silently celebrate the presence of this remarkable social networking service within my heart. Each day, I am reminded of the inherent beauty that Goodwall brings to the world.

As I embark on my few days’ stay in Rome, I am filled with excitement and a sense of awe. It’s truly surreal that I find myself sitting here, penning these words in the enchanting city of Rome. It feels like a dream that I never want to wake up from.

After pouring her thoughts onto the pages of her diary, Dera gently closed it, feeling a sense of accomplishment. She couldn’t help but smile brightly as the evening sun illuminated her face through the car window. The spark of determination within her burned brightly, despite knowing that her dream of becoming a journalist was still a few years away. Instead of dampening her spirit, this realisation fuelled her hope and ambition, igniting a fire that pushed her forward.

As Dera caressed the cover of her diary, she reflected on the support and encouragement she had received along the way. Gratitude welled up inside her, overflowing like a river bursting its banks. Her family’s unwavering love and belief in her had been her foundation, giving her the strength to overcome challenges. Her form teacher had been a guiding light, offering guidance and wisdom to help her reach new heights. And Goodwall, the platform that had connected her to an incredible community, had been a constant source of inspiration and empowerment.

Dera’s heart overflowed with genuine gratitude towards Goodwall, recognising its pivotal role in her journey. She envisioned the platform soaring to new heights, becoming a top-ranking app in the world. While she acknowledged that there might be other similar apps she wasn’t aware of, Goodwall held a special place in her heart. It had served as the catalyst for her journey, propelling her forward on her life’s path. The realisation filled her with profound gratitude, appreciating all that Goodwall had bestowed upon her.

Looking out the window, Dera marvelled at the vibrant scenery passing by. The world seemed alive with possibilities. Leaning her head against the glass, she relished the smooth journey ahead, seeing it as a metaphor for her own aspirations. She vowed to savour each step, embracing the growth and knowledge that would accompany her.

In that moment, gratitude and excitement welled up within Dera. She knew challenges would come, but she was determined to face them head-on. With hope in her heart, knowledge in her mind, and dreams in her diary, Dera eagerly embraced the journey ahead. She was ready to make her mark on the world, bringing healing and compassion to those in need.